My Destiny was Black
by Wyoming Outlaw
Summary: During the early days of his assignment to the Afrika campaign, Dietrich's destiny continues to unfold. Leading him down a path shaped by his past, Dietrich's future begins to be revealed when Fate brings him into contact with the man who will change his life forever. Read "The Desert Bled Black" first to better understand Dietrich's background.
1. Prologue

**In you, O Lord, have I taken refuge; let me never be ashamed.**

**In your righteousness, deliver me and set me free; incline your ear to me and save me.**

-Psalm 71:1-2

The sun had begun to settle behind the ridge taking this day from me. It would soon be gone, and along with it, what remained of the natural light. I could not waste a moment of precious time if I were to personify and solidify what I had finally encountered in the desert.

Rapidly, I sketched. My drawing pad propped against my knee, my charcoals flew across the paper and the image that burned in my mind began to emerge with exactness.

A line here, a smudge there, shading to bring it to life…

Finally, I paused to reflect. It was ironic that it was he who had become my muse, inspiring me to pick up my drawing pad again. The war had consumed all of my waking moments and frankly, I had no desire to record any of the world's devastation. Wars have the tendency to drive out most artistic of ambitions, given their grim realities.

My last drawing had been of a rural French church where I had once sought answers, but instead, had received only silence. The building, a once magnificent piece of architecture, had since become a casualty of the war. I admired my work, thinking that I had perfectly captured the beautiful symmetry of its destruction; with the rubble looking like it had been arranged by the original stonemasons and the dying light shining through its lone remaining window.

Suddenly, I had realized what I had created. I had recorded the results of our aggression. After destroying the drawing, I had abruptly put away my drawing materials and I had not touched them since.

Until this day.

I gradually slackened and finally ceased my sketching, allowing the pad to fall gently to my lap. I looked out across the desert enjoying its serenity. It was a beautiful sunset, with the sky filled with colors. Cool air was replacing the arid heat of the day and a gentle breeze rose from the desert floor, rustling my hair and curling the pages of my sketch pad

It was fitting for this day to be both an ending and a beginning to my life. I was thankful to witness the magnificent sunset, to bring an end to the day I had been patiently waited to occur for over eight years. And most of all, I was grateful to be alive, not to have been cut down when the opportunity had so blatantly presented itself.

After all these years I had finally found him. Or, more accurately, we had found each other, in the desert. Somehow, that seemed fitting when everything in my life, both personal and professional, had been centered on this desert. She had been correct about finding him here, not far from the bar in Benghazi, not far from her shop of so many years ago.

As soon as our eyes locked, I had instantly known it was he. No, he had not been wearing the American cowboy hat as I had so sarcastically thrown back at her. Instead, he wore the Australian Bush hat, the hat that distinguished and set him apart from the others. I believe until the day I pass from this Earth it will always be the image I would associate with him, the hat shading his serious eyes which reflected his inner compassion.

But I knew there was more to him than just the hat. The hat didn't make the man. The man made the hat. In those two brief instances where we had engaged in combat, I knew there was something more to him than what was visible on the surface. There was a presence about the American I had not yet encountered during all these years of war, not against the British and definitely not against the French.

I had seen the American only briefly in those few moments when I had first drawn blood against his team. Was it actually only a week ago? It seemed more like a lifetime had passed. But it wasn't until today that I believed that we actually met although we never spoke a word to each other.

Had she also visited him so many years ago as she had me in Benghazi? Or, had she chosen to visit him a few days ago? Had this been a one sided anticipation on my part? Or had he also waited for me, expecting me to make my appearance here in the desert, knowing how he would recognize me when he first saw me?

She had sent me no signs today. But then again, I hadn't expected any from her. Her last sign was when Ellery had fallen several months ago, when he had so clearly spoken about the American arriving soon with his dying breath. Ellery had been correct. I gave a small smile as I gazed at the setting sun.

Perhaps she had sent me no sign because she expected me to know without being warned.


	2. Chapter 1

We had been traveling for over two hours and the drive seemed like it would never end. It was already past noon and we were barely half-way to my new post where I was assuming command. We had departed my previous duty station mid-morning, hours after I had wanted to escape it. My desire had been to leave at first light, but we were delayed due to the strong possibility of an upcoming storm.

After several conversations where I felt like I was practically pleading with my superiors to approve my departure, I finally convinced them that I would be able to arrive well before the storm hit. Besides, I politely reminded them, I had already taken the liberty of notifying the unit of my early arrival and they might be concerned if I didn't arrive as scheduled. This last part was a complete fabrication on my part. I knew that Wilhelm Meyer would, if anything, crack open a case of champagne to celebrate if I went missing.

I had shamelessly used the storm warning for my own purposes. I saw no reason to waste any additional time. Originally, I had been scheduled to assume my new command on the following day but I was anxious to initiate it. This would be a different type of command for me, very much unlike any of my previous posts had held in Africa or in Europe. Instead of traditional warfare against a massive enemy army, I had been ordered to bring an end to Allied commando units attacking our units in the southern rear areas. My orders also included providing protection and support to supply columns when they passed through the commando infiltrated areas.

While this command would be on a much smaller operational scale from my previous duties, I believed it would be a better fit with my skills and background. Also, I preferred operating more independently from the main military units. Apparently, my superiors had reached the same conclusion regarding my abilities as they had actively sought me for this assignment. Instantly intrigued by it, I had wanted to assume it immediately. Its remoteness would give me the freedom and the ability to make command decisions quickly in the field given the rapidly changing situations. The transition from traditional warfare to a much more mobile combat theatre against smaller enemy units would be an excellent opportunity for me.

The posting had presented itself at the perfect time. I had found myself physically and mentally exhausted after so many years of war, the majority of it here in the desert. I quickly chastised myself for having these emotions and thoughts. My service hadn't been any harder or longer than that experienced by any other soldier.

I found myself looking forward to making a positive impact against the ongoing commando problem. I cautioned myself to be realistic. My predecessor had accomplished little against them and there were never any guaranteed success in warfare. It would be a difficult duty station, but I relished the challenge and would accept nothing less than complete success from myself. The Afrika Korps was already feeling the impact of the increasing commando harassment and the supply issue was critical to Germany's success in the desert.

I sharply pulled my thoughts back to the moment at hand and put aside my selfish thoughts regarding success. It was critical for me to stay focused and alert to ensure that I not become an early victim of my adversaries. I knew the commandos were out there, waiting to strike. I could feel it within my soul, even if I could not see them anywhere off the horizon.

Besides my Kubelwagon, there were only two other vehicles accompanying us. They were with us merely to provide support and protection. In turn, they would leave tomorrow, providing an even bigger courtesy to me when they escorted Meyer from my sight and command.

I knew it was dangerous to operate in such a small group with minimal firepower, but we were significantly behind German lines. I seriously doubted we would be attacked by the enemy, or even by the Arabs, for that matter. However, I cautioned myself that such over confidence opens the door of opportunity to the very thing one doubts.

The few times we halted were to verify our direction from the compass and maps. I briefly left the vehicle to stretch my legs at each stop, trusting the men to quickly confirm the coordinates. During these moments I observed the harsh beauty of the desert enjoying what little it had to offer. The area was so desolate and quiet, the only sound being the low idling of the engines and the quickening wind.

I found it hard to believe that I still belonged to the desert after so much time had passed since my last visit in 1934. Life now was vastly different than it had been, and long gone were the days of post-graduate carousing and womanizing in a steamy Benghazi bar. I sadly suspected the lovely Miss Norma was not hiding behind the ridge waiting to reveal if she was a true redhead. Those carefree days were over. Now I was fighting for my survival.

It was time to leave. I could sense the forecasted storm and it would be here soon.

The open air vehicle made it very difficult to have any type of conversation with the driver. It hardly mattered as I actually had very little to say to my adjutant. I was too preoccupied. When I wasn't scanning the terrain for the enemy, I found my thoughts drifting towards the entire North African campaign. The desert terrain was so different from that in France and the other European countries in which I had fought. In spite of myself, I had to smile at my thoughts for comparing the two theatres.

When I was in France with all the snow, rain and mud, all I had desired was to escape it. I had wanted to experience true combat without buildings and trees in the way, and without innocent civilians caught up in nothing they could control. I had no longer wanted to witness the destruction of homes and churches and everything priceless they contained. In contrast, the desert seemed to contain nothing but open space and pure plains, with few structures to obstruct and hinder combat. Also, mercifully, the fewer civilians were more mobile and suffered less collateral damage.

I believed the war in the desert was difficult at its best for the Wehrmacht when compared to the war in Western Europe. Fighting in multiple areas caused the supply issue to be very tenacious here and we never seemed to have the resources necessary to win. The Allied commandos only compounded the scarce resource challenge by making continual hits against our supply lines and depot centers making the situation almost impossible.

Water and petrol were probably the most precious supplies, not just for the Germans, but for the Allies as well. At times I had to keenly focus myself not to obsess about the lack of water. I remembered swimming endless laps in beautiful, crystal clear pools back home, immersed in the cool water. I never minded the monotony of swimming since it gave me time to reflect about everything and nothing in particular. I tried not to think about all the thousands of liters of water in those concrete ponds, not being used for drinking or even bathing, but merely for sport. I would obsess about it when I was drying out my throat with countless cigarettes.

With a start I pulled myself back again to the present. The African campaign was a reality which would continue into the foreseeable future. It was unlikely Germany would surrender any square meter of it willingly without fiercely fighting for it. I would continue to loyally serve here, contributing my skills and knowledge until my superiors determined I would serve a more useful purpose elsewhere.


	3. Chapter 2

When we finally approached the German camp, I was startled. My initial thought was that this was a horrible mistake. We must have arrived at the wrong camp. This camp could not possibly be under the command of the Wehrmacht. There must have been an administrative mishap and I had been sent here by mistake. If we simply contacted German headquarters, everything would be quickly and efficiently corrected. I knew that I was grasping at desperate straws to avoid the reality of my situation.

Even from a distance everything seemed off and unkempt. It was not what I would expect from a unit under the Afrika Korps' command. I couldn't help but wonder if it was in this state because it was so far removed and away from the direct command. Then I realized that the unit may have been deliberately stationed here to prevent it from negatively influencing the other dedicated hard-fighting units.

The situation was even worse than I originally thought when we actually reached the camp's entrance. The entrance was completely unguarded and open for entry to anyone who might by chance wander by. In fact, from my vantage point, I could see no guards patrolling anywhere along the camp perimeter. My anger began to rise. The unit would prefer having been attacked and all the soldiers killed, I inwardly fumed, instead of the future they had in store from me.

I directed my adjutant to stop near a battered shack which I assumed to be the guard hut. I was about to order the other men to investigate the camp when I at last saw movement. After what seemed like an eternity, the guard finally made his appearance from the hut. He slowly approached us, openly yawning in the process and clearly annoyed to have been disturbed from the luxury of his inactivity.

We were covered in dirt from traveling in the open air Kubelwagen. No doubt the guard didn't recognize us or make a deduction as to why we had made an appearance on his doorstep. I strongly believed guards should assume anyone approaching their duty station is either the enemy or the commanding general visiting in disguise. If a guard follows this simple rule, he is safe in more ways than one. This particular guard obviously didn't share my conviction. Frankly, he didn't seem to care about it in the least.

"We're not interrupting you, are we Gefreiter?" I asked him, not bothering to hide the biting sarcasm in my voice.

The guard looked at me with a puzzled expression, the sarcasm obviously lost on him. Perhaps, I thought, he was too dulled from sleeping on duty to notice. To make his situation even worse, he failed to notice my rank and didn't salute me.

The guard vaguely motioned for us to produce our papers as if he was a bored usher at an opera performance asking for our tickets. I honestly believed that I could have been General Montgomery himself brazenly inspecting the German positions and the guard would not have reacted any differently.

I could see my adjutant becoming angry at the disrespectful and sloppy conduct and I lightly placed my hand on his arm to settle him. I purposely took my time producing my orders, sadistically wanting to savor the moment when the guard realized the error he had so blatantly committed.

The guard began to half-heartedly review my papers. I could see his eyes grow wide with surprise as he matched my face with the name listed on the orders. Grasping his grave mistake, he quickly came to attention and finally saluted me.

I took my time returning his salute, keeping him waiting at attention as I did so. I wanted to instill some form of discipline in him, even if even just for the present moment.

"Herr Hauptmann Dietrich, you were not expected until tomorrow," he stammered, after finally finding his voice.

"That's rather obvious," I replied curtly, rebuking him. I remained silent for several minutes, forcing the guard to stand at attention while he waited for me to respond further. Holding rank over an enlisted man was extremely out of character for me. I finally had enough of my amusement and proceeded with my reason for arriving at the camp.

"Where may I find Hauptmann Meyer?" I asked brusquely.

"Given this time of day, he should be in his tent," the guard replied, trying hard to be helpful now that he realized he had been caught at a serious dereliction of duty.

I couldn't help but look up at the sun, noting the early afternoon hour.

Clearly understanding what my gesture conveyed, the guard continued cautiously, choosing his words carefully.

"I think he will also be surprised at your early arrival, Herr Hauptmann."

"There seems to be no end to the surprises my presence is creating here," I said looking him directly in the eye as he squirmed under my gaze.

Either he was slow in articulating an answer or he knew better than to risk my further wrath, but the unfortunate guard did not reply to my remark.

It took every ounce of my willpower not to tell him that I frankly didn't give a damn about Meyer's "surprise." I made an exaggerated motion of looking around at the unkempt nature of the area, the gesture again not lost on the guard. If this was how the camp was on the outskirts, I could only imagine the main camp's condition.

I said nothing else to the guard and I motioned for my driver to proceed. The guard hurriedly snapped a salute, his face reflecting his relief for me to leave and to turn my attention elsewhere. I gave the guard a curt nod and returned his salute.

It was only a short distance to the main camp and I had my adjutant stop at the far end of it, telling him that I wanted to walk the remaining distance. If the guard possessed even an iota of intelligence, he would have called ahead to warn the others of our arrival as soon as we departed. Apparently, he lacked the initiative because the main camp was just as deserted as the guard hut had been a few moments ago.

In the center of the camp I could see what I assumed to be the command tent, where Meyer would be waiting.

I left the Kubelwagen, savoring the walk. It felt good to stretch my legs after the long drive in the cramped vehicle. As I slowly walked, I took in the poor conditions of the camp. My earlier thoughts and suspicions were confirmed. These conditions would never have been tolerated in the main army. I could only imagine Generaloberst Rommel's reaction if he were present.

The camp reminded me of a cheap traveling carnival: Disheveled and dirty, ready to flee in the middle of the night to avoid confrontation at the first hint of danger. I had been warned that the Allied commandos were extremely bold and resourceful and that the area was exposed to their constant threat. I wouldn't put it past them to attack this camp in its current state.

I corrected myself. The camp was obviously completely safe. No self-respecting commando would even remotely consider this enough of a challenge or important enough to risk his life in a raid against it.

I could only shake my head in disbelief. I understood that this camp was located far from the main reach of the Afrika Korps due to logistical reasons, but there was no reason for it to be in such disarray. It was no wonder this unit was having difficulties capturing the commandos and successfully completing their other orders of escorting supply columns. The unit's disorder just exposed it further to attacks and made it more difficult to defend from the enemy.

I realized command headquarters could have been partially aware of the extent of its forlorn state. In hindsight, I recalled that it had been mentioned in passing to me that the unit needed "some polishing." However, certainly nothing was said that indicated anything to this extent. I relished a command challenge, but this was something far beyond that. My immediate thought was that it would take weeks, if not months, to bring some sense of order to this unmitigated disaster, precious time I knew was not available to me.

I looked all around me and could still see no signs of life. The only movement came from the sand and debris kicked up by the strong breeze. We stood there silently. I could sense that my adjutant did not know what to say. He, too, would be sharing my pain in this forlorn outpost. My adjutant finally broke the heavy silence.

"Herr Hauptmann, it appears that the two of us are the only survivors of some type of deadly plague."

"You forgot to count the guard," I said sarcastically. "That makes three." For their sakes, I truly hoped the men were dead instead of just lounging around sleeping or drunk in their tents. Meyer might accept these conditions, but I would not tolerate such lax behavior under my command for even the briefest moment. This was a disgrace to the Afrika Korps.

Again, my adjutant anticipated my thoughts.

"This is much different than your previous command, Herr Hauptmann. You will definitely have a challenge on your hands."

"I believe the word 'challenge' is an understatement." I waited for a few moments more, continuing to take in the scene until I had had enough of it. The mess was not going anywhere and it could wait until I had completed my initial task. It was now time for me to meet Meyer and officially assume my command from him, what little of it existed.

"See to it that the men who accompanied us receive rations and arrange for them to have quarters for this evening," I ordered. "I will return after I speak with Hauptmann Meyer."

I wanted to bring this to an end as quickly as possible. I was never one to delay the inevitable or bad news and I knew what waited for me. I strode firmly to the tent without looking back and I entered it without announcing my presence. I didn't even bothering to brush the dirt from my uniform or stamp the sand off my boots.

Meyer had already brought enough of his type of dirt to the desert war and now it was time to replace it with my own type of decency.


	4. Chapter 3

I stood there for an instant, allowing my eyes to become accustomed to the interior darkness, knowing he would be alone. Unless he ordered one of his men to be there, I seriously doubted any of them would willingly share his presence. I immediately caught the strong smell of liquor engulfing the small enclosure. For it to be this over powering, he must have been drinking heavily for quite some time. I was surprised by his need of liquid comfort at this early of an hour. I expected more of him as a German officer, even given his odious nature.

"You're here early, Dietrich. I didn't expect you to arrive until tomorrow. What caused you to blow your ass over here ahead of your orders?" he asked in a low voice.

I would have recognized his arrogant, smug voice anywhere, even with the slight slur added by the alcohol. I could vaguely see his silhouette near the back of the tent and I stepped closer to his voice. I removed my cover and ran my hand through my hair, giving me a brief second to take the edge off the situation.

My eyes quickly grew accustomed to the dimness. I couldn't help but notice the disarray and condition of the tent. To have said that the place was a pigsty would have been a grave insult to swine. Meyer had never been the neatest man in the world, but now he had allowed the situation to go completely out of hand.

But I asked myself, why should I be surprised?

The condition of his tent echoed what I had seen during various duty postings over the years. The few times I had seen his living quarters it had exceeded what the comments had caused me to imagine.

"You didn't read the radio message, Meyer? It was sent yesterday and acknowledged by one of your men," I said. I was repeating myself over and over again, like I had found myself in a cheap American comedy movie. Wasn't there anyone in this camp who knew what was happening?

Meyer's only reply was to vaguely motion over to a field desk where papers were heaped, in no apparent order. Either the message was in the mess or frankly, he hadn't really cared to actually accept it or even read it.

"We're rather casual here away from the main Wehrmacht," Meyer replied as if reading my mind. "No sense to go through so much trouble when the reason isn't that important. Even if it is the grand announcement of your arrival."

I walked to where he was seated and I looked down at Wilhelm Meyer. His shirt unbuttoned, feet propped on the only other chair in the dingy tent, he had the air of a man who has no respect for himself for others, or himself. On a small camp table within his easy reach were a tall glass and an open bottle of brandy. Not surprisingly, considering the all pervading stench, the bottle was almost empty.

Meyer and I were of equal height, but he was thinner, wirier. His face was still as perpetually gaunt as I remembered and there was a part of me that had always believed his gauntness was caused by a hidden addiction to drugs. The fierce African sun had bleached his blond hair almost white which contrasted starkly against his deeply tanned skin. I had always thought if you looked up the word "Nazi" in the dictionary, you would see Meyer's picture in place of a description.

Meyer's and my paths had crossed several times during our careers. To say that we were on unfriendly terms would have been an understatement. I had had the misfortune to know him for quite some time, dating back to when we had first attended the military academy together. He had believed my father had bought my entrance and that I had not earned the right to attend on my own merits. It was a belief he never let me or anyone else around us forget.

When he had begun to actively pursue my sister, Liesl, after our graduation from the academy, I had cared for him even less. Liesl had instantly disliked him and would have nothing to do with him. Her opinion of him (and mine) was validated when he assaulted her at a party shortly before the War.

Despite that she was already engaged to Ellery, Meyer, in a drunken stupor, had cornered Liesl and had demanded a sexual act. My sister had promptly refused. Angry and defiant at the refusal, Meyer assaulted Liesl, attempting to force himself upon her. She escaped only by practically scratching his eyes out. Her loathing of Meyer was well-known in the social circles afterwards. Liesl would never attend any event if she even vaguely suspected he would be present.

Perhaps for the best, I never knew of the assault until years after it occurred. Liesl only confided it to me after Ellery's death the last time I was home on leave. It was a confidence she had shared with no one else, not to our parents, and definitely not to Ellery. Ellery had died without ever knowing what she had almost experienced from Meyer.

The final blow to Meyer's fragile ego was when I always made rank before him. He could never accept the fact that it was my skill and abilities and not my father's influence which continued to propel my career. Meyer's life always struck him as unlucky and unfair, with others never giving him the opportunities that he deserved. He refused to realize how his shortcomings and limited performance would always hold him back, or, to admit how he alone was responsible for his life.

Meyer was one of those unique individuals you meet once in a lifetime whom one would believe will never die. Far from being as unlucky as he felt, Meyer seemed to have the blessings of the devil himself. I honestly believed that the man could have stepped directly on a land mine and walked away unscathed. It had always galled me that he was still alive, yet other excellent soldiers I had known were sleeping in their graves. To my knowledge, even though he had actively seen combat since the beginning of the war, Meyer had not received so much as a paper cut.

I looked down again at his feet on the chair. Meyer finally seemed to understand my hint. Or, he realized I was not in the mood with which to be trifled. Either way he reluctantly removed his feet from the chair, kicking it aside so I could sit down.

I sat and lit a cigarette, offering him one only due to forced politeness.

He recoiled as if I had offered him poison.

"You know how the Fuhrer feels about smoking," he admonished. "You should give up that filthy habit."

I considered smoking my business and my business alone. It was not Hitler's, and it especially was not Meyer's. Meyer's health dribble was what I would expect from a Hitler Youth, not from an adult seasoned officer. My response was to slowly look at him and blow a prolonged plume of smoke in his direction.

Meyer angrily waved it away after lightly coughing.

"Brandy?" Meyer offered me half-heartedly.

I couldn't stop myself from looking down at my watch to see the early afternoon time.

"No, thank you. It's rather early for me."

"Suit yourself." Meyer shrugged his shoulders. "But don't look down your nose at me, Dietrich. You'll be drinking heavily soon enough, once you get a taste of the commandos. Or should I say, when they get their claws into you." When I said nothing in response, Meyer continued, "Or are you waiting to be alone? So you can indulge in your private stash of Jack Daniels that is your open secret?"

I continued to ignore his comments, not thinking it worth the effort of replying.

"So who did you piss off to be assigned here?" Meyer asked with a petulant voice. "I would think your blue blood family would be able to get you out of this shit-hole assignment."

"Herr Generaloberst Rommel requested me personally for this assignment."

Meyer looked skeptical. "Really?"

"Herr Generaloberst knows I have the background to accomplish the command. Besides, I, and everyone in the Afrika Korps, would hate to delay your impending assignment, Meyer. Perhaps it will be to the Eastern front?"

"Well, Dietrich, if you hitch your destiny to capturing these desert commandos it will be black indeed. I had no success against them in the least."

I merely inclined my head. "We shall see."

"Speaking about destiny, I heard about your success at Jufra. Impressive."

I gave only a short nod to acknowledge his comment. Meyer would be the last soldier in the world that I would want to acknowledge my accomplishments at Jufra.

Of course, he wouldn't let the subject drop.

"You saved not only your own command, but also Walther's. I'll give you your due respect."

"Thank you."

"Speaking about Walther, how is his lovely wife?"

I should have seen it coming. Only Meyer would be able to turn success for Germany into something ugly. "Last that I heard, Margot was well," I replied evenly, refusing to be baited.

"And how long ago was that? You certainly were seen in her company frequently enough before the war, escorting her to various events when Walther was conveniently out of town."

I nodded. What Meyer was saying was true. I had been seen frequently with Margot, and in the absence of her husband. "With Walther's permission, of course."

"Oh, of course! It seems like just yesterday I remember seeing the two of you in the rose garden at Baroness von Stein's gala. You two made such a striking couple, Dietrich. Even given the unfortunate fact that Margot was married to your best friend." Meyer smiled thinly and nodded at the memory. "If one didn't know any better, they would swear it was the two of you married, that Margot was your wife and not Walther's."

I felt my face color. I was glad of the dim light.

Meyer's eyes were as fierce as daggers. He knew he had me. "It's only been the talk of the Wehrmacht, especially when you transferred from Berlin immediately after the gala. Yes, I must admit that it was rather gallant of you to save Walther. Considering what you had riding on the line, hmmm?"

There was no sense denying the truth to myself or Meyer, or anyone else. As discreet as I thought I had been with my thoughts and desires regarding Margot, Meyer must have witnessed the one indiscretion I had with her that night in the rose garden in that final glorious summer before the war began.

Matthias Walther had asked me as a favor to escort Margot to the Baroness' gala. I knew the Baroness personally and it was a great honor to be included on the guest list. It was to be a high society event, a style that I had attended countless times in my life. However, Margot had never had the opportunity and was very excited at the invitation. As luck would have it, Matthias was unexpectedly scheduled for duty out of town the night of the gala. Aware of his wife's excitement and not wanting her to be disappointed, he asked if I would do him the favor of escorting his wife. I had readily accepted and had looked forward to enjoying the event in Margot's charming company, knowing I had the blessing of her husband.

I remember little of the event except for Margot's lovely presence. I had spoken with others only when I believed it the absolute necessity of good manners. That had been where my propriety had ended. Apart from a courtesy dance with the Baroness, I had danced only with Margot, not even bothering or wanting to ask a dance from any of the other women. I had held her closer than I knew was appropriate, melding her body into mine, and possessing her entirely if only for that evening. I had suspected others were noticing. Recklessly, I had placed these concerns aside, not caring in the least.

Late into the evening we had stepped outside to cool down from the dancing and without admitting it to myself until much later, to have some privacy from the other guests. I had escorted her to the rose garden, and we had stopped where there was little chance of anyone seeing us. We had been softly chatting about nothing in particular, merely enjoying each other's company. Margot had felt so light on my arm, and her perfume had been intoxicatingly as it had wafted up to me. For those brief magic moments, I felt as if I was the luckiest man alive.

I had noticed that Margot had been silent for a few moments. When I turned to see the cause, I could clearly see the smoldering desire in her eyes and the rising color in her cheeks perfectly accented by the moonlight. I relished the craving that I had forced aside for so long. All my latent passions and longings for her instantly surged to the surface. I was unable to control them. Furthermore, I had no desire to do so.

She took a step towards me. I gathered her in my arms and crushed her tightly to me, feeling her willingness and warmth through the thin silk of her dress. I intertwined my hand in her dark blond hair, gently pulling her head back and exposing her graceful neck. My lips grazed her skin briefly before I began hungrily kissing her waiting lips. I pulled her even closer to me, savoring the feel of her body as it responded to mine, finally claiming what I had desired for an eternity.

Suddenly, I had comprehended what I was doing, not just to the two of us, but also to my best friend and fellow officer Matthias, and to their three children.

My senses returned. I immediately released Margot, and took a step away, my pulse racing as my eyes continued to be locked with hers. I felt a great shame come over me and I was unable to speak any words. I could only curtly shake my head "no" indicating that I now could never follow through on my passion.

Margot again took a step towards me and she started to speak. I gently placed my fingers on her lips to silence her. It was the final time I would ever touch her.

I finally motioned for us to leave. Without offering her my arm, I returned her to the gala. We never spoke a word. After all, what could we possibly say to each other except what was foremost on our minds? I walked slowly with my hands behind my back and it was regrettably soon when we arrived. I was in great emotional pain and yet I wanted our return walk to continue forever since I knew it would never happen again.

Within moments I had arranged for a fellow officer to escort Margot home, claiming a sudden illness on my part. I left immediately afterwards without even giving my regards to the Baroness.

It was the last time I was alone in Margot's company. While I had continued to socialize with the loyal and unsuspecting Matthias, I never visited their house again. It was shortly after the gala that I had volunteered for a remote duty station to prevent any temptation arising from my desires again. I attempted to transfer my emotions and desires to other women over the years, but with no success. I was left feeling unfulfilled and the emotions felt artificial.

Suddenly, Meyer's ruthless voice interrupted my memories, dissipating them into the dirt.

"When we have some more time you'll have to inform me of your family's reaction to your dirty little affair with a fellow officer's wife. I am especially looking forward to hearing your father's thoughts. And to think you were his only son available to carry on your family's honorable military tradition. What a shame…Apparently that doesn't say much about the quality and quantity of honor you possess."

I again felt a deep sense a shame come over me from my inappropriate actions from so long ago.

Neither once of us said anything for a while. I hoped that Meyer would let the matter drop. However, he continued, it was obvious that he wasn't going to allow the conversation to end so painlessly for me.

"I must give you credit for having a fine taste for women. Margot is certainly an intoxicating poison. The next time I return to Germany I do believe I will contact her to provide her a little much needed company." Meyer looked thoughtful. "You know, I wouldn't mind having her on my arm permanently as my wife after the war. If Walther doesn't return. If Walther does happen to survive the war, perhaps she and I can make other arrangements? She certainly seems as though like she's willing and open enough to be with a man who isn't her husband."

Another silence fell, seeming long, but likely only lasting a few seconds.

"What can you tell me about these desert commandos?" I already knew the answer, but it was time for the games with Meyer to cease.

"Ah, changing the subject from Margot? Alright, I'll go along with your little indiscreet secret. We both know the truth, as does everyone else. Back to the commandos, then. What is it you want to know about them, Dietrich?"

"Their operations, their methods, who they are, what you done have to capture them, how they have impacted you escorting columns... Anything and everything you have on them which can be of use."

"You know as much as I do." Meyer gave a bitter laugh. "It won't take long for me to provide you the little information that I do have: Four men in two Jeeps, everywhere and nowhere at once."

I nodded. "What else? What are their methods? Their strategies?"

"If I didn't know any better, I would swear the entire Allied war in North Africa will be won by these four men. Their methods are different each time. Always unique, always one step ahead of us."

For once, Meyer had my interest. I leaned forward. "Who commands them?"

"I have no idea who leads them or even who they are, except that they are Americans. Or, at least I'm assuming that they are Americans due to the Jeeps they use."

My attention increased at his last comment. The United States had not been in the war long and yet apparently the Americans were already making their presence known here in North Africa.

"Americans?"

"Yes, either that or the British are using their equipment and uniforms. Although both sides are using whatever equipment and material they can scrounge up given the supply situation."

"And why hasn't this desert commando problem already been handled, Meyer? Have you captured or killed any of them?" I asked, trying again to gain any useful information from him.

"What do you think, Dietrich? If I had ever captured even one of them, the entire Afrika Korps would have heard about it and I would have received one of your pretty little trinkets." Meyer gestured with frustration towards the breast of my uniform.

Despite my dislike for Meyer, I began to feel for him at the difficulties that the commandos were causing and his inability to put a stop to their operations. I nodded and lit another cigarette, waiting for him to continue.

"If I had captured even one of them, I would have staked him out on the desert and watched him expire as I was enjoying a cold beer. I would have filmed the episode so I could savor it again and again in the future!"

I could feel a look of disgust appearing on my face. Apparently, he found it quite comical. It didn't stop him from continuing.

Meyer leaned forward, his voice low and his eyes shrewd. "I was so desperate to stop them I even poisoned the water at some unknown water hole I believed they were tapping."

I was shocked at the admission. "I never would have expected that. Even from you, Meyer."

"This is where we are different, Dietrich. I will do anything necessary to win and ensure the continuation of the Third Reich. That includes fighting dirty and killing them in any possible way."

I felt nothing but more disgust at his words. Contaminating a precious water source in the desert was an action that could not only impact the commandos, but all of those that would need it in the future. "Killing them in combat, yes, but poisoning them as if they were vermin?"

"But that's the point, Dietrich!" Meyer gave a harsh laugh, throwing his arms up as if I had said the most amusing thing. Then, his face became deadly serious. "These commandos are a group of vermin. They need to be exterminated. If not one way, then in another."

I could not agree with him. What he was saying went against everything that I believed that a soldier should be.

Meyer seemed to scoff at my naiveté. "Mark my words, Dietrich. You'll find going up against these commandos is not what you've experienced with the British. With neat little battle plans drawn up and where during every battle everyone acts like gentlemen bowling a cricket match."

"It amazes me, Meyer, that even you could fight in such a way. It is without honor."

"You speak to me of honor? As if your skirts were as neatly starched as a nun's?" Meyer's eyes never left my face and he made a sharp sound that may have been a laugh. "Why don't you share a few of the less desirable actions that _you've_ committed during the war, Dietrich? Perhaps when you were in France? Or, perhaps, what led to your accomplishments here in the desert?"

I stiffened at the gall that Meyer had to question my honor.

"What nothing more to share? Not how you were willing to condemn your men to death at Jufra just so you could win a medal? Or, what about the little incident back at the academy where you had no honor to admit what you had done? Why don't you start praying to that God of yours for forgiveness? Confess your sins to those black clothed priests and kneel in servitude. There will be many still alive who will remember your name long into the future," Meyer said pointedly.

"Perhaps, but not in the same way they will remember _your_ name." I knew there was nothing for me from which to hide, nor did I fear the threat of being accused of any war crimes. I completely ignored his insinuating comments on Jufra. My conscious was clear from my orders and actions on that day.

To continue the current conversation would have done nothing but give credibility to Meyer's accusations. I changed the subject, returning back to the true matter at hand. "Where are the unit records?" I dreaded the answer, already knowing what it would be.

"The unit documents, communiqués, all over there," he said with a flourish of his wrist towards the paper strewn desk.

It unfortunately was the answer that I had expected. What a complete mess, I thought. I ran my hand through my hair again. Not only was it necessary for me to bring the unit into fighting readiness, I would also need to clean up the dreaded paperwork. All of this could not be accomplished overnight.

I would consider the abilities of the unit Leutnant to have his assume the paperwork. This would delegate part of my burden.

"Where have the commandos been spotted? Have their areas of operation been charted?" I asked, seeking again to get some useable information before I was finally rid of Meyer.

Meyer shrugged his shoulders before answering.

"Go ask Hoffman, your new Leutnant. I assigned this undertaking to him."

I knew he was lying, throwing poor Hoffman to the wolves in the process. I wasn't going to let it drop so easily.

"Are you saying that as his commanding officer, you are unaware of your order's status? It is your ultimate responsibility to see that your orders are carried out." I paused to allow this to sink in before I continued my attack on him.

"Why hasn't this been addressed, Meyer?" I persisted, unable to resist twisting the knife. "What is the status of the charting, Meyer? Surely, you are able to provide at least this much?"

His eyes quickly narrowed and I could see the color rise to his face even beneath the deep tan.

With a regrettable satisfaction, I was glad to see that I was finally getting to Meyer as he had attempted to get to me. I delivered what I believed would be the final blow. "As an experienced officer in the German Wehrmacht I would have expected much more from you, Meyer."

"Go fuck yourself and your Goddamn charting, Dietrich!" he yelled, his voice hoarse.

I knew I would receive nothing more from him at this point, not that I had received much information from him previously. It was useless to press him further. Even if Meyer had any useful information I doubted he would have provided it to me. It would be up to me to gather the information necessary for us to succeed.

We sat there for a few minutes in a heavy silence, each of us not willing to give way to the other.

It was he who finally spoke.

"I won't hold our past or any hard feelings against you," Meyer said lightly almost companionable. It was a stark contrast to his tone just a few moments prior. "You can share my tent tonight, Dietrich. I'd hate for you to miss the opportunity of spending the night with my company."

I frowned. There was nothing that appealed to me less than spending a night in Meyer's company.

"We can catch up on old times, have a friendly chat. Since you said a storm was arising, I don't think it prudent for me to leave at this time, do you?"

I said nothing allowing my silence to be my answer. I very much wanted to encourage Meyer to take his chances against the wrath of Mother Nature. It was likely that he would fare far better against the elements than he would with me if he continued down the same path.

"Don't worry, Dietrich. I'll depart tomorrow afternoon, gladly leaving you to your fate."

"Speaking of fate, what is your next assignment, Meyer?"

"I haven't been informed yet. Whatever it may be, I'm looking forward to leaving the prissy English and the arrogant Americans behind. Hopefully, I'll be ordered to the Eastern Front where I can use my skills against the Bolsheviks. They at least can fight like men."

As much as I wanted to point out to Meyer that he would likely be outmatched by anyone that could fight like a man, I held my tongue. I was sick of our Meyer, and sick of our exchange. The sounds of the coming storm underlined the fact that I would not be rid of him soon. With a sigh, I pulled my chair away from him and turned my attention to the chaos of paper on the desk. It would be best if I left him to his nasty thoughts and his bottle. At least tackling the filing would be productive, which was much more than I could say about the near hour that I had wasted conversing with him.

"We can start our little chat now, if you'd like. Tell me, Dietrich, how is your family?"

"My family is of no concern of yours, Meyer." I squinted, trying to make out the smudged writing on a half completed form. It looked like something had been spilled on it. I took a small sniff of it. Brandy, no doubt.

"Is Liesl still a spitfire?" Meyer pressed.

"If you mean, does my sister still have good taste in men, then the answer is yes."

"I heard about Ellery, and that you were there for his death."

"That is true, yes."

"I find it absolutely amazing how gossip travels through the Wehrmacht," Meyer marveled. "Ironic, though, that you were unable to save Ellery like you did Walther. If anything I would have thought it would be the other way around."

"There was nothing I could do for Ellery." It was the truth. I had realized long ago that I could not cheat fate or her prophesies, no matter how I tried. Ellery's death would always be a part of me, God rest his soul. I despised the bastard for bringing Ellery and my sister into this conversation.

"Too bad you couldn't also save Ellery for your sister's sake. But her situation isn't too bad, is it? Liesl can always have the pride of explaining that her fiancée was killed in combat."

"Liesl was very proud of Ellery's service." The Nazi rhetoric of the glory of death in combat was in reality cold comfort, but I wasn't about to debate that with Meyer.

"I'm sure that she was, but I doubt those thoughts will keep her warm at night in a cold bed. Alone. On the positive side, I'll still accept her. She can always have me." There was an unsavory gleam in Meyer's eye for which I did not care.

The idea disgusted me, as it would no doubt disgust Liesl.

"My sister isn't that desperate. She would not have you then, or now, for that matter."

"With a war on, there's going to be a shortage of available men for all these desperate women just begging for some nighttime entertainment. And life will be hard for a woman alone. I'm sure that Liesl's nose won't be so high in the air after the war."

"Liesl can take care of herself, and has for years. War or no war. And I am sure that she would find being unmarried preferable to being wed to someone that she neither liked nor respected."

"Well, as you already know, I'm not the marrying type. So things chould work out just right. Morals will be different in the future. As you know, the Party isn't encouraging marriage. Just breeding. Your sister would make a wonderful mother. I would hope that the children get my blond hair and not your family's dark, non-Aryan locks."

I could take no more of his nonsense. I started to rise from chair at the continued insults towards my sister. I knew that Meyer was baiting me, repaying me in kind for calling into question his abilities as an officer. He wanted a reaction, and that was all. We both knew all too well that nothing would ever happen between Liesl and him. Taking a breath and resolving to be the better man, I forced myself to sit back down.

"My father and I would never allow her to be with the likes of you," I said, forcing any emotion from my voice.

"Given the fact your father is old and will probably be dead soon, and the strong likelihood you'll be killed by the commandos, there's nothing to stop me from obtaining what I want. As you well know, I've always wanted Liesl. And I'm more than patient to wait."

"You will be waiting a long time." As if I needed any more motivation to best the commandos, Meyer had just given me another.

Meyer leaned back and folded his hands behind his head. "Just think, Dietrich! Me living in your luxurious ancestral home, spending all that money your family has stashed away in Swiss banks, making lots of little Meyers with your sister…"

"It would be wise of you to cease your line of conversation now, Meyer, before you have a 'little incident' at the hands of my Arab friends when you leave here tomorrow, an unfortunate disappearance that's never quite resolved," I said with deadly calm, my voice not rising in the least. "And if you ever touch my sister again, I will take care of you myself personally, slowly, and over several days."

I looked him directly in the eye. Meyer must have seen the deadly intent there because he stopped baiting me. We sat there staring at each other for several minutes. I had nothing more to say to him.

It was he who finally broke the silence in a hoarse voice.

"I hate everything your family stands for, Dietrich. Your fucking honor and outdated ideals, neither of which are relevant in a modern Germany. And I most especially hate you, Dietrich."

Even though the statement was hardly shocking, I blinked at the cold ire that was behind it.

"I truly believe you are even worse than your old-school father, Dietrich, if that is even possible. Men like you are the reason that Germany is losing the war. I'm looking forward to the day when all you Dietrichs receive your comeuppance and are dead and completely forgotten. If it's the last thing I witness, it will be for you to receive what you so richly deserve," he said with a clenched jaw, his voice barely above a whisper.

"That is a day you will never witness, Meyer, not in this lifetime or in any other," I said with a clear, strong voice. "It is because of Nazis like you, Meyer, that Germany is losing the war. You and your ilk will destroy the country that all so many good men over history have died to save. And there will be no comeuppance for you and your kind, only suffering for us all as a result of your abhorrent actions."

I looked at Meyer and Meyer looked at me. There seemed to be nothing more for me to say and certainly nothing more that I wanted to hear from him. I nodded to signal the end of the meeting, rose from my chair and started to leave.

I stopped at the tent flaps and I paused before stepping out of the tent to replace my cover.

"I will now meet the men of my command, Meyer. I will return here later this evening only to sleep. I expect you to leave at first light tomorrow. I am not willing to endanger the lives of the other innocent men to be rid of you from my area of command, so if there is a storm, you leave alone. Do I make myself clear?" I hadn't bothered to face him as I spoke. There was no answer from Meyer, but I hadn't expected one, except perhaps, a knife between my shoulder blades. I nodded. "Good. I knew you would agree with me."

I then left, walking into the brilliant sunshine leaving Meyer and all of the fetidness that seemed to cling to him behind.


	5. Chapter 4

I worked feverishly and slept little over the next several days. Frantically, I prepared for the orders which I expected to arrive at any moment. I was constantly on the move, planning and analyzing, wanting to make the most of what little time that I had remaining before the inevitable mission. Not one precious second could be afforded to be wasted. Lack of preparation could (and would) be deadly to any and all of us.

To say that my newly assigned unit was an unmitigated disaster would hardly be doing it justice. Every inspection continued to disappoint me and I had been nearly unable to find anything that was being done correctly. In the unit's existing state, I did not relish the thought of leading it into combat. It was critical that I raise the unit to an acceptable combat readiness level in a very short time. If I could not, my tenure as its commanding officer would indeed be brief. The odds of survival were as unfavorable to me as they were to my men.

One of my unit's main obstacles was that it was severely undermanned for its assigned duties. My first action was to immediately request additional men and replacement weapons to bring the unit up to its intended full strength. Not surprisingly, it didn't take long for my request to be denied by my superiors. I could almost hear the laughter from the Afrika Korps headquarters as soon as my request was received.

Of course, the official reply politely stated that no additional men would be forthcoming and that there was a greater need for equipment with the main army. I grimly accepted that it would be necessary for me to make do with what little resources I currently had at my disposal. I knew the odds had been long, if not impossible, for me to receive any reinforcements. I still believed it necessary for me to at least make the attempt.

I was painfully aware that the entire German war machine, not just my command, was stretched to the thinnest possible margins. Experienced men, or even men over the age of sixteen, were becoming almost impossible to obtain. Units were being disbanded and combined with others to bring them up to at least minimal capacity. It was all just a shuffle of men on paper, with nothing actually resolved in the end. There was little, if anything, that I could do to overcome the man power shortage that was plaguing the Wehrmacht. There was nothing left but for the remaining men, including myself, to fighter harder and more analytically to compensate for the unending shortage.

The few remaining men in my unit cared little about their orders or the possibly deadly consequence impact of their inaction on others or themselves. The men basically did what they wanted and when they wanted. Discipline was an unknown concept to the men, as was honor. They had little, if any, respect for themselves. The men had even less respect for the command authority.

Even knowing what I knew of Meyer, I still could not believe that he would have allowed such a dangerous situation to develop and fester. The men I could not really blame for their current state. They had only been following his poor example of what a soldier, an officer, and gentlemen should be. I could not tolerate in my command from what I could not tolerate in myself. I immediately made my standards known and I made it abundantly clear that any man continuing to conduct himself in an unacceptable manner would be instantly and severely reprimanded.

If I had to personally shoot every last man except for my adjutant, then he and I would be a two man unit. We may not win the war. However, we would at least serve Germany honorably as soldiers.

I knew that merely drilling discipline into the men would not cause them to respect me nor my authority, in the slightest. Respect could never be dictated by any amount of orders. I would need to earn it through my ability as their commanding officer and leader.

To gain their confidence, I was constantly with the men, ensuring that they saw me working and living amongst them. I spent almost every hour with them, not just during the day, but also long after dark. They needed to realize how as their commanding officer that I was taking responsibility for them and also with them to ensure their success in combat. I would be beside them, and would share their ultimate fate on the battlefield.

With an opportunity for such constant observation it did not take me long to recognize that drinking and drunkenness were rampant among the men even when they were on duty. Moderate drinking would have been acceptable during their off duty hours, but they had gone far beyond that delineation. I had untold amounts of liquor confiscated, but there always seemed to be more making its appearance. I had no idea how they were able to continue procuring alcohol in the middle of the desert when no supply columns had made any deliveries. I had so much alcohol destroyed I felt like the American Federal agents in the news reels that had chronicled the American Prohibition.

I had the febels reinstate training to sharpen the skills that had quickly evaporated under Meyer. However, the men would need to rise above training and skills. I knew that it was critical for them not only to fight as one unit, but also to be able to think and act independently if the situation should require them to do so. Finally, I expected each man to have honor and respect for the capabilities of the enemy. Their qualities of character would carry more weight than their intelligence during the height of combat.

I gave orders for the camp to be cleaned up and placed in order. Guards now regularly patrolled the perimeter. A maintenance program for the weapons and equipment was established to keep them serviceable and available for immediate use. The equipment and vehicles were in such dire shape from plain neglect, not for the lack of spare parts. Again, I was completely baffled. Why the men would allow the equipment to founder when it was so critical to surviving in desert combat?

My frustrations continued to mount for the unit's overall condition and lack of readiness. One of the final straws for me was the weakness of my junior officer. Leutnant Ernst Hoffman had the capabilities to of become a fine officer, but he was reluctant to make a decision, constantly fearful about making a mistake. He compensated for this fault by waiting for me to order him on exactly what he should do.

The vast extent of Hoffman' limitations quickly became apparent to me. He had acquired some experience as an officer before he was assigned here a few months ago, but he had gained little, if any, experience since then. He had never been given the opportunity to advance his leadership skills and further deepen his command abilities.

Meyer had never given him any authority or direction, but was quick to blame him when any situation was not executed as planned. With Meyer refusing to accept any responsibility for his own mistakes, and Hoffman apparently, had been his whipping boy. I had originally planned to assign Hoffman the majority of the camp's paperwork to allow me more time to focus on strategy. I quickly realized that he would not be assuming any of the paperwork at least not in the near future. Never had he actually completed any and was completely perplexed about what to do with any of it.

Instead of inheriting a seasoned junior officer, I would now be the one held accountable for how well he advanced as an officer. Developing Hoffman as an officer now fell under my command and responsibilities. I would have no one else to blame except myself if he didn't successfully perform in combat and the other necessary areas of his job.

Hoffman's lack of experience became starkly evident late on the first night after my arrival. I was gathering, or should I say, attempting to gather information from him. I received nothing but rubbish. Finally, I had to interrupt his rambling and nonsensical answers.

I forced my patience to the surface as I placed my frustration carefully aside.

"Leutnant Hoffman, you are providing me with conflicting information." I rubbed my eyes, unsuccessfully attempting to relieve a tired headache. "A few moments ago you said the complete opposite regarding where the Allied commandos had been previously engaged by this unit. I understand that the area is large and their operation is fluid, but which sighting is accurate? Were they or were they not seen in this particular area?" I asked firmly, but not unkindly.

As soon as I asked my pointed questions he began looking like a kicked puppy, unhappy about not being able to please me. He immediately started offering excuses.

I raised my hand, quickly cutting him off. I realized immediately that Hoffman didn't know enough details to answer my questions. The unfocused answers were his was of trying to hide his lack of knowledge. I had no desire to waste any more of my time. His excuses were not going to assist us in planning for the future which was rapidly approaching.

"It is critical for you to quickly provide me and others with the accurate facts, Leutnant. All of our lives could depend on it: Our men's lives, your life, my life," I explained patiently. "I frankly have no aspiration to die here in the desert due to poor information, nor should you."

"No, Herr Hauptmann, I wish none of those things. For any of us."

"If you don't have a ready answer, then admit it. Then go and obtain the answer promptly. I will clearly ask you when I want you to speculate on a given situation when we are unable to wait for or determine the facts." I looked him in the eye, hoping to see some sort of understanding.

"But Hauptmann Meyer…"

I had no wish to hear one word about Meyer. "Leutnant Hoffman, I never have been, I never will be, and furthermore, I have no desire to be Hauptmann Meyer!" I did not want to take out my frustrations on him, but unable to stop my impatience from taking hold of me. I knew that Hoffman's poor situation was not of his doing. He obviously wanted to be a competent officer. It was not poor Hoffman's fault that he had been short-changed by his previous officer.

"I have a completely different command style than Meyer's. You will need to adapt to my style, just as you will need to adapt to your future officers' style when I am no longer in command here."

Hoffman straightened. "I understand."

I nodded, encouraging him. "You will very quickly learn to anticipate my questions before I ask them and then you will have a ready answer for me when I do ask them."

"Yes, Herr Hauptmann. I know that I am a disappointment to you," he said sheepishly. I would have preferred Hoffman to be angry and resentful with me rather than looking so backwards. I reined in my frustration, not wanting to direct it at Hoffman, knowing that it was caused by other factors beyond his control. I once again rubbed my aching head.

I was edgy and irritated from my lack of sleep. I was even tenser from my lack of cigarettes. Meyer, that bastard, had stolen my lighter and the pack of cigarettes that I had foolishly left on his desk. I had but a few more packs with me. I was forcing myself to ration them until I knew that I could I was able to procure more.

As I had demanded, Meyer had left at dawn, mercifully without saying another word to me. His final action against me had been his theft of my cigarettes. I had to wonder if he had stolen the cigarettes as an act of revenge. He would have known how precious they were so far behind the lines. The idea of making me suffer until I could lay my hands on more would certainly have appealed to him. I more strongly suspected that Meyer was in reality a closet smoker as well as a thief. Since he was always postulating against the evils of smoking, no one would suspect him of the sin of nicotine, or pinching their cigarettes.

I cared little about the lighter. It was an inexpensive one I had purchased when I knew the war was imminent. I could have easily afforded an expensive one, but I had not wanted to take the chance of losing it on the battlefield, or being relieved of it if I became a prisoner. What bothered me more than the loss of both the precious cigarettes and the lighter was the thought of a fellow officer taking one of my possessions. To have to suspect such a thing was unfathomable.

A lighter, even an expensive one, was an easy thing to replace. The loss of my trust in my fellow man would not be replaced so easily.

Fortunately, I did not have much time to dwell on it.

I continued my frantic pace for several days until Hoffman surprised me by telling me that I needed to get some rest and sleep. We had been again working late when I had noticed him watching me from the corner of his eye, becoming obviously distracted from what we were analyzing. I was ready to reproach him for not focusing on our work when he finally spoke what was on his mind.

"Herr Hauptmann, forgive me for asking, but how much sleep have you had since you arrived?" Hoffman finally asked.

"Enough," I said brusquely, ignoring his concern and trying to refocus him on the matter at hand.

"I don't believe what you consider 'enough' is what is needed to maintain your health, Herr Hauptmann."

I looked up at Hoffman, not quite believing the conversation we were having.

"Leutnant, I will have sufficient time to sleep when I am in my grave," I said pointedly, having enough of his well meaning, but completely inappropriate, concern. "At the present moment I have more pressing issues that require my attention than receiving adequate sleep. Now if we are finished with our discussion on my current sleeping habits, I would like to again refocus on the commandos. Who I seriously believe to be planning their next moves and who are likely not sleeping, either."

"You will be of no use to the command or the men if you continue at this pace, sir," Hoffman flatly responded.

I looked at him sharply, ready to admonish him, when I saw something new and different. Behind his eyes I could see the growing glimmer of strength and confidence. I pulled back the harsh remark rising to my lips. No, now was not the time to douse this flame when it was just coming to life. Instead, I replaced the rebuke with a tired smile.

"I can assure you that I am fine," I said, accepting the fact that his concern was sincere and was not meant to be intrusive. "The problem is not my lack of sleep but the lack of time we have to prepare for our imminent orders."

Hoffman did not disagree. The line of conversation was brought to an end and we continued working on what was actually important.

I've never met a commander who didn't want additional time to prepare for an upcoming engagement. I was no exception. We always want more opportunity to analyze and plan, to procure more resources and most importantly, the greatest advantage of time being able to over-prepare our men.

Far too soon, my allotted time to prepare had evaporated. My orders came through abruptly ending my preparations. I didn't believe the men were ready. More critically, I knew I wasn't ready.

On the seventh day after my arrival, we were ordered to accompany a supply column traveling directly through the known operating area of the Allied commandos.


	6. Chapter 5

I never thought that with my experience that I would be assigned to provide escort duty to a supply column. However, I realized it was necessary to capture the commandos. The column and all it contained, supplies as well as men were serving a double purpose. While delivering much needed supplies to the forward areas, it was also being used as bait to attract the commandos

The convoy consisted of supply trucks, half-tracks, light vehicles and two panzers which would provide cover. For good measure, a ladder truck was included at Hoffman's suggestion. He had thought that it might prove useful if we needed to scout areas not visible from the ground. I could not disagree with his logic. We had over thirty men, heavily armed with a range of weapons. Still, even in the company of all of my men, a part of me felt immensely alone when surrounded by the remoteness of the desert.

We had left nowhere only to be seeking the same piece of nowhere, held on to tenaciously by the Germans, and half-heartedly by the Italians. The space in which we travelled was vast and anonymous, vaguely menacing as it called my name. Despite the deadly reason I was assigned for this mission, my soul felt so at liberty and alive.

I was near the column's front, riding in a half-track. My firm insistence to be in this position had prompted Hoffman's unfinished comment of "But Hauptmann Meyer never…" It was a statement which had been met by amused smirks from some of the men.

It had only taken one look from me, not nearly so amused, for Hoffman to realize it would not be in his best interest to complete the sentence. Since I had arrived at this duty station, word had quickly spread that I did not tolerate any comparisons to my predecessor. Occasionally, a comment would slip from one of the men. Sometimes the words were truly uttered accidentally, or, depending on the man and his intention, with the not so hidden purpose of testing me.

Any vague, remote, one in a million thought I may ever have had of Meyer's honor and reputation as a German officer had completely vanished. I soon discovered that he led his men from the rear and never from the front. It caused my dislike of him to turn to loathing. A capable officer and a successful leader led from the front, not from behind his men. His place was always at the front, to give them courage and strength and to share their danger.

Rommel led from the front lines and expected the same from his officers. Apparently, Meyer's interpretation of Rommel's example was something completely different and molded to meet his own personal desires.

No wonder the men held little to no respect for Meyer, I thought bitterly to myself. And now their thoughts regarding him were being transferred over to me. It was now my challenge and responsibility to earn the respect of the men under my leadership. A respect that Meyer had thrown casually away with both hands.

The penetrating cold forced my thoughts from Meyer. The open air vehicle in which I was riding only intensified the early morning chill. I wore my jacket to ward off the cold that seemed to bother me more and more recently. I had become too acclimated to the heat of the desert. As a result, I seemed to no longer crave the colder northern climate in which that I had lived for the majority of my life.

We had left early in the morning, long before the sun would begin to beat down on us mercilessly, leaden and dry. My main reason for ordering the early departure was the critical necessity of successfully delivering the supplies. To accomplish this, I needed to out maneuver the commandos working the area. No doubt they would have intelligence of our movements and know the approximate location of our supply routes.

However, I had chanced that it would be difficult, while not impossible, for them to be in position this early so deep in German held territory. I seriously doubted that they would have traveled by night. There was still a possibility that they could have already been located deep enough in our area to minimize their travel distance. I knew the commandos would engage us if they were determined enough to do so. My aim was to do everything possible to minimize any advantages that they might hold against us. At a minimum I had tilted the odds slightly away from their favor.

Any advantage that could be gained would be needed. Our designated route made me extremely cautious. I thought travelling it was downright dangerous, not to mention foolish and asinine. Though I was not overly familiar with the road and area, I knew enough to realize that it was not the strategic choice. In fact, it placed the advantage completely on the side of the Allies.

Of course, I had expressed my doubts and concerns regarding the route to my leadership. My concerns, no matter how well founded, seemed to have fell on deaf ears, as they were firmly placed aside by my superiors. They assured me that we would receive air support to provide cover.

So far I hadn't seen so much as a paper Luftwaffe airplane in the sky.

The route led us through an area which showcased the desert in all its desolate beauty. There was only sparse vegetation and the soft sand looked like it had been gently delivered from a beautiful coastal beach. The only intrusion of man was where the sand had been hardened into a passable dirt road due to the countless vehicles driven upon it.

My eyes were drawn to the splendor of the sand dunes that had been rippled into waves by the wind. They were as beautiful and delicate as if an artist had sculpted them over a lifetime of effort, painted in a wide palette of colors. I knew that most would only see nothingness surrounding them, missing all that the desert had to offer. There was something about its savage beauty that attracted me much like the seductive pull of a dangerous and beautiful woman.

My mother also enjoyed natural beauty. I frequently wrote to her describing the raw beauty of the desert. She would gently remind me in her letters to please send her a drawing of the desert. It was something that I had promised to do since my arrival.

How could I possibly tell her that all the death and destruction I had witnessed darkened the beauty on how I viewed the desert landscape?

The only time that I had attempted to sketch the desert, the only images in my mind had been burned vehicles and sprawled bodies. The images of death invaded any artistic vision that I might have possessed, marring the pristine beauty of the desert. After that, I had placed my art supplies away. I had not had the desire or the strength to touch them since. I could not capture the desert without showcasing the destruction.

I had no desire to create such "art", nor did I desire to share the horrors of war that blatantly with my mother. As a woman and my mother, she should never bear witness to the same scenes that regularly haunted not only my dreams, but also my waking hours. They say that one becomes immune to the impact of war. Either I was an exception to this rule, or "they" had never fought in such a brutal war.

I forced myself to focus again on the mission at hand. Any distraction could open all of us to be killed. Thankfully, the wind that had created the beautiful landscape was light today, barely moving the air or the sparse native plants. It was fortunate for our mission that the weather forecast did not include any of the sand storms from the previous week.

Ahead I could see the sand dunes increasing in size, forming tight walls which flanked the road. The increasing dunes were quickly narrowing the passage due to their encroachment on both sides the road. The littered carcasses of burned out vehicles and supply crates began to dot the pristine sand. The abandoned and destroyed vehicles were a silent testimony about the danger of the route. I noticed the occasional skeleton of downed airplanes. From which side they originated I was unable to distinguish.

The extensive wreckage confirmed in my mind that our route was well known to the commandos in the area. I had been informed that our supply columns had been hit in the past, but not to this magnitude. We were obviously within more of a striking distance of the Allies than I had been appraised. My thoughts began to focus on how the supply columns must be easy targets for light vehicles like the American Jeeps. It was too late for me to minimize our present risk further.

The route tightened further and I felt my uneasiness continue to grow. The debris that lined both sides of the road increased in frequency, a constant warning which could not be ignored. Constantly, I scanned the area and reminded my men to be on high alert for any hint of the enemy. They assured me with casual waves and smug grins that they were being attentive and watchful, no doubt believing that I was a needlessly worrying like a green leutnant on his first mission.

I had experienced combat countless times and I truly believed that the most difficult moment is always before the battle actually commences. I would tighten to a razor sharp edge with anticipation and my exhilaration would be at its highest level. I could feel the moments become lifetimes. It was a feeling of a never ending eternity of pain and pleasure, where the harsh reality of dying contrasted with the selfish hope of surviving. But it was these moments that I had been born for, for what I had waited. It was when I felt the strongest and the most in control of everything around me.

The radio played, occasionally broadcasting popular music in between war status updates. I was so focused on scouting the vicinity that I barely registered when the music ended and another update began. The word "commando" caught my attention. I reached around to increase the volume so I could hear the warning announcement better.

It was at that moment I instantly knew we had entered a trap. We had made a terrible mistake and we were about to pay the price for our error.

And as if they had synchronized their arrival with the announcement, the commandos appeared in a flash.

Honestly, I was almost relieved when they finally appeared. The waiting was over. Now, I could focus on ending their reign in the part of the desert I had now claimed as my own. No doubt they felt I was the intruder in their real estate. After all, I was the interloper who needed to be taught a lesson in response for my cheekiness that dared me to enter. The extensive German wreckage was their calling card and warning to their claim for this priceless piece of sand and dirt. The message was for the Germans and the other Axis powers to surrender and leave.

I sensed them before I could actually hear them. Two Jeeps carrying four men appeared from behind one of the massive dunes.

Our left flank came directly under fire. Despite myself, I felt the familiar excitement of entering combat. My analytic side took over as adrenaline began rushing through my body. Grabbing the radio microphone, I issued orders to my men. Gunfire competed with the sound of my voice, but as the lead two panzers circled back to provide heavier fire power, I knew that I had been heard.

The Panzers delivered blistering fire to the Commandos. They happily returned it.

In mere seconds, a supply truck had exploded. The commandos turned their attention to a second truck, raking it with incessant fire. The vehicle ran off the road, engulfed in flame, as it too exploded.

The driver threw himself from the truck, screaming in agony as the flames claimed him. A brief moment after hitting the ground, he was still.

Bullets sprayed around me. I could not believe that I was not hit.

The detonations from the destroyed trucks illuminated the day time sky more brightly than the sun in their horrific beauty. Even though my vehicle was constantly moving, I could feel the heat from the flaming wreckage against my face.

The commandos seemed to be everywhere and nowhere at once. If I hadn't known differently, I would have sworn there were a dozen Jeeps instead of merely two.

We were having no success against them, even though we out-matched them, bullet for bullet. I ordered my men to move faster, constantly urging them to press the attack but we were unable to score a hit.

I was amazed at how maneuverable their Jeeps were. It was truly amazing how they easily outpaced us. Even though they worked separately and unable to directly communicate, they were in perfect sync. Their plan was obviously well formed and well practice, executed down to the minute level. As a result, it was completed by hand signals which were instantly understood and executed.

The rattling of our guns surrounded me as we constantly rained heavy fire upon them. Our efforts yielded no success.

The Jeeps used their quick speed to maneuver in front of us, now driving side-by-side, hitting us even harder from their new angle. Their new position greatly limited our line of sight due to our column formation. I surmised by their move that they were in the final seconds of their attack and were positioning themselves to end the engagement.

Finally, after we had fired countless rounds, we scored a hit against one of the Jeeps.

I saw one of the soldiers slump over his .50 caliber. With no one to direct its deadly power, the weapon now pointed uselessly at the sky. Fire power now reduced by half, the commandos quickly broke off the engagement and retreated as I suspected they would. At their speed, we were not going to catch the remaining three of them, at least not at this particular engagement.

Even though it seemed like hours, I estimated less than five minutes had elapsed for the entire battle.

My driver halted our vehicle and I ripped off my goggles to improve my vision. I quickly brought up my field glasses to watch the rapidly retreating commandos. It was difficult for me to see much due to the heavy dust. I knew we had seriously hit, perhaps killed, the one man. Other than this, I doubted we had inflicted any other damage against them.

If they were able to inflict this much damage against us in such a short time, how much would they be able to accomplish when they had more time and strength at their disposal? They were already using surprise completely to their advantage even though we were aware they were in the area. Only God knew what they could accomplish with all three of these by their side. Yes, they had earned my respect but my respect had come at the price of my men and the supplies

I sighed heavily at our minimal impact. Next time would be different, I reasoned with self. I was now more familiar with their operation and would put this lesson to good use. I knew that every failure contains the seeds of success, just as every success harbors the danger of failure. It would be my responsibility to ensure my next encounter was seeded with what I had learned today.

I continued staring out over the desert even though they were now beyond my sight. They were gone, leaving nothing but desert dust and destruction behind. Finally, I lowered my field glasses. Far off in the distance, even the dust was now beginning to settle.

My immediate thoughts should have been concerning my men and what remained of the supplies. Instead, I found myself drawn body and soul to the Allied commandos. They had stayed just long enough to give me a brief and bitter taste of what they had to offer if I chose to continue my present folly. While the edge was coming off my body, my mind was still racing, locked on the commandos. I could feel my pulse slowing and my breathing become deeper as the effects of the brief engagement begin to dissipate.

I was pleased that my men had performed well given the commando's surprise attack and their success against us. Hoffman's vehicle appeared suddenly beside mine. I noticed that he had more confidence about him and was steady after the engagement. My initial instincts were confirmed. He would develop into a fine officer and quickly become dependable during engagements. And for the first time since my arrival, Hoffman anticipated my question and answered it before I even had the opportunity to ask it. He began speaking to me, but I knew what his words would be before they even left his mouth.

"That, Herr Hauptmann, was the Rat Patrol."

My ears were still ringing from the firing, but I was able to hear his muffled voice well enough to confirm my thoughts.

I let his words hang in the air.

The commandos had made their appearance and now their identities had been confirmed to me.

Without even knowing it, they had thrown down the glove of combat to me. I had willingly and eagerly picked it up. It was now my turn to throw it down to them, but I would ensure that the end results would be different in the future.

After a few brief moments I finally spoke. My voice deadly but calm.

"Hoffman, find out everything you can about them. Not just their recent sightings and engagements against the Afrika Korps, but also who they are: Their names and backgrounds. I especially want to know who the lead man is behind all of this."

Hoffman nodded, but I barely noticed. My eyes never left their final spot, even though the commandos were now past the horizon.


	7. Chapter 6

We had arrived at our supply depot destination shortly after noon. We managed to deliver what was left of the supplies without any further incident or any other sightings of the Rat Patrol. Neither surprised me. The Rat Patrol seemed to be the only danger to us in that area of the desert. I would have been greatly surprised if they had hit us again after they had lost a man, effectively reducing their fighting force by half.

"What happened, Hauptmann Dietrich?" Oberst Neumann asked.

I lightly jumped down from my vehicle and saluted him, fully expecting to receive his wrath.

To say that Neumann was angry would have been an understatement.

We had radioed ahead concerning the ambush so no doubt his anger had increased exponentially every minute that he had waited for our arrival.

"Was it the Rat Patrol which hit your supply column? You do know at least that much, don't you Dietrich?"

"Yes, Herr Oberst, I do know that it was the Rat Patrol which hit my supply column," I replied tightly, with just a vague hint of anger that I was feeling.

Neumann looked at me sharply and pulled himself straighter. I knew I was on the edge of being disrespectful to a superior officer, but it had taken every ounce of my strength not to have my answer drip with contempt instead of mere sarcasm. Who else would have been so bold and brazen to hit us so far behind German lines but the damned Rat Patrol?

"That's enough, Hauptman Dietrich," he said sharply. "Your tone of voice and lack of respect are out of order. Now answer my original question as to what happened. And I strongly suggest you do yourself a favor and keep your opinions private unless requested to provide them."

"Yes, sir." I nodded slightly, hoping to seem suitably contrite. But I felt far from contrite.

Surprisingly, I was angry at my direct German command and not at the commandos. My thoughts kept returning to the belief that the encounter could have been avoided if only I had been able to convince my superiors about the route's inherent danger. If they had considered my proposal for an alternate, none of my men would be dead and the supplies would have arrived safely. What a tragic waste of good men and materials. The Rat Patrol was at least successfully accomplishing its orders regarding the war while the Germans were falling down at theirs.

But most of all, I was angry at myself for failing my men and my orders.

Neumann apparently agreed that I should be the target of his anger and disappointment. "I'm aware you have the eye of Generaloberst Rommel, Dietrich," Neumann was saying, "but he expects you to deliver results the same as I do."

"Yes, sir," I answered again.

Neumann was not to be placated. "And you can forget about your father being able to cover for your failures here. I seriously doubt even his influence would reach this far."

It was like rubbing salt into an open wound for Neumann to insinuate that I would seek shelter and assistance from my father.

"We were hit by the Rat Patrol at the Tmassah pass," I said, removing all inflection from my voice, giving him just the barest fact. I didn't believe it necessary to elaborate at this moment. What else was there to say? The damage spoke for itself.

Apparently the oberst believed more information should be forthcoming since he motioned with an impatient wave of his hand for me to continue.

"We were hit at the Tmassah Pass," I repeated. "I believe the route is well known to the Rat Patrol. They were waiting for us, hitting us at the exact moment to create the maximum damage."

Apparently, finally satisfied that I did indeed know something, Neumann nodded, looking thoughtful. "Continue."

"There was considerable wreckage along the route, at the point where they attacked. The wreckage was other German and Italian supply columns that had been attacked in the area."

Neumann's eyes narrowed.

"Some of it appeared to be recent, while other wreckage appeared much older," I continued. "The route is well known or the Allied intelligence informed them of our movements this morning."  
"Doubtful," interrupted Neumann.

"Or, they simply waited for a German column to approach. However, Herr Oberst, the latter does seems unlikely. That strategy would have put them in considerable danger to be observed, so far behind German lines for any length of time." What I didn't add was if our route had been marked with a big red X on a map, they could not have found it any easier.

"And the Luftwaffe didn't spot them? I would think…" Neumann frowned.  
"We received no air support," I said as I looked him coolly in the eye. For all its promises and good intentions, the air support I had requested had not been received.

If Neumann had any thoughts regarding the lack of air support, they remained unmentioned. "Damn that Rat Patrol!" Neumann swore under his breath, directing his obvious anger towards the Allies. "They need to be dealt with harshly and their raids stopped!"

I agreed with him whole heartedly.

"Something needs to be done with them once and for all regarding these ambushes! What started off as an occasional nuisance has become a regular thorn in my supply operation. I have to believe that it will only become worse with the passage of time."

Neumann's eyes dropped to take in my uniform. He pointedly inspected me, obviously not liking what he saw. My appearance was so different than the pristine uniform he was wearing. It looked like his clothing had just returned from the laundry detail. While there wasn't a speck of dust on him, I was bathed in it, covered from head to toe in the grit of the desert. The only part of me that was remotely clean was my face where my goggles had been.

This was my first contact with Neumann and I quickly surmised that he was unlike other officers on Rommel's staff. Like Meyer, Neumann appeared to lead from the rear, never coming near the areas where his men were doing the actual fighting and dying. Briefly, I wondered how Rommel would react if he knew how his war was actually being fought in the deep desert.

Apparently finishing his inspection of my appearance, Neumann continued to press for information. "What were the losses, Hauptmann?"

"Two men dead, three wounded. Fortunately, the wounded are expected…"

Now it was his turn to impatiently interrupt me. He waved his hand, cutting me off.

"No, no, no! What were the losses to the supplies, Dietrich?" he asked impatiently.

With supreme effort, I managed to control my facial expression. The rat bastard, I thought. There were German men dead because of this. The supplies were precious to the war effort, but the experienced men were irreplaceable. And I shouldn't even call them men. Most were boys and should have been learning their subjects in school instead of learning of war and dying as soldiers in the God-forsaken desert.

"One truck carrying supplies, completely destroyed," I reported, smoothly. "Two other trucks hit, but salvageable, fully operational within a week. Minimal damage to the half-tracks. No damage to the panzers. I would estimate that seventy-five percent of the supplies arrived here undamaged. I would also estimate approximately ten percent of the supplies that were damaged are salvageable. They were reloaded on other vehicles to be evaluated for their reparability or for their use as spares." My report complete, I fell silent.

"And were you able to inflict any damage upon the enemy?" Neumann prodded realizing that I was not going to speak further.

"One known hit against one of the soldiers manning a .50 caliber weapon."

"Dead?"

"Unknown. I am not sure if he was mortally wounded or merely injured. We searched the area briefly, but did not locate a body."

"Briefly? If he was alive, just think of what he could have told us! If dead, you should have confirmed the kill, Dietrich."

I nodded. I knew the standard procedure but believed that I had a valid reason to move away from it. "I decided that delivering the remaining supplies and getting the wounded to treatment were of more importance than wasting any additional time by searching any further."

Neumann looked unimpressed with my command decision. He struck me for some unknown reason as one of those officers Germans obsessed by body counts of the enemy dead.

"Given the Rat Patrol's reputation, I highly doubt they would have left one of their men behind," I continued to explain, not sure why I should have to justify my actions. "I also firmly believe they would not leave any of their wounded or dead for us to find. It would confirm that they were reduced in strength."

"One Rat hit, perhaps dead. Well, that is a little more than I had expected." Neumann gave a half grin which quickly faded.

I stood there after my terse verbal report saying nothing, waiting for him to express his displeasure with my initial performance.

Neumann didn't disappoint.

"Hauptmann Dietrich, I understand that you have only been in command of your new unit for only a short time. While you have had some success, I would have to think and that you would agree, it should have been at a much higher level." He looked at me with hard eyes. "The results are scarcely different than if Hauptmann Meyer had been left in command. Frankly, I expected more from you given your experience and your family's tradition of military service."

Now it was my turn to pull myself straighter as my jaw tightened at his stinging words. I didn't care for my comparison to the incompetent Meyer. His second reference to my family in the space of only a few minutes I liked even less.

Coupled with his prior reference to my father, his last statement was particularly offensive to me.

I was my own man. I had always wanted to be viewed as such. After all, I had earned my career without any intervention from my father. I had refused any and all assistance that he had ever offered me, from when I first began my pursuit of a military career to the present day.

I had not even requested his intervention when I was nearly expelled from the Academy during my final year.

My trouble had been the result of an idiotic group prank gone seriously wrong. I had been the only boy caught. I had made my situation even worse by first denying my involvement. I then compounded the situation by refusing to name any of the others involved. My father found out about the incident almost immediately. From who, he refused to say. I would never know for certain, but I would always suspect that the culprit was the academy's commandant. He was even more ancient and traditional than my father, if that was even possible, and he had served with my father. I suspected that he had felt that it his duty to notify my father regarding my actions before I was summarily expelled.

I was pulled from the middle of a class, a terse note summoning me to the commandant's office. When the commandant's secretary averted her eyes from mine and quietly ushered me in without saying a word, I should have suspected something more than just another warning.

My father had traveled to the academy to personally confront me regarding my indiscretion. To say that I was shocked to see my father in the office instead of the commandant would have been an understatement. When I noticed that he was alone, I knew his visit boded extremely ill for me.

My father was a large man, with a large voice, even when he was speaking normally. His voice was more than thunderous when he was angry. And on this occasion, the roar of his voice was truly deafening as I stood before him, the focus of his displeasure. I had no choice but to receive his full wrath as to what he believed was an insult against him and a blemish on the family's honor.

He ranted for several minutes, uninterested in anything that I had to say for myself, not even allowing me the opportunity to speak. He informed me that the prank jeopardizing my academy standing was the final straw in a long line of poor and unacceptable behavior that he had tolerated over the years.

At this point he was merely warming up. He then proceeded to inform me of all my actions he would no longer accept or tolerate.

It was no wonder I had little respect for others since I had such a low opinion and no respect of myself. I would end up being nothing but a disgrace to the uniform I so desired to wear if my actions did not improve in the immediate future. Finally, the way I treated women was demeaning and a disgrace. I showed little, if any honor for the young ladies or me by using them so poorly.

I stood there quietly for several minutes before I had had enough of his condemnation. My own temper rose to the surface and all my incensed feelings towards him from over years came rushing out in a torrent of infuriated and passionate words.

I was unable to control my emotions and frankly, I didn't care to. I broke from my attention stance and took a few steps towards him. My blood was boiling. I began yelling back at him, something I had never dared to do before in my life. I threw his words back into his face, telling him what I thought of him as a soldier, and even worse, what I thought of him as a father.

For my entire life I had felt nothing but complete isolation from him. No matter how hard I tried, it was never quite good enough to earn his respect or approval. In fact, I believed the only thing I had done remotely correctly in his eyes was to follow his career path as a soldier.

And even at that, I still wasn't quite good enough to meet the high standards he had set for me.

Recklessly, words poured from my mouth. I told him that I cared nothing about his so-called accomplishments on the battlefield. In fact, I was God damn sick and tired of constantly hearing about his professional life that now meant nothing in today's modern Germany. Furthermore, I was tired of his surviving woe-begotten soldiers, all wallowing in their sorrow and self-pity, continually coming to him for monetary assistance and living at the estate as free loaders. The attention, compassion, and care that he had focused on them would have been better directed towards our family, and especially towards me. The only thing I had ever desired from him was to know him as my father.

I shared my opinion that if he had been a better father, that he would have taken more of an interest in my life and an interest in, how I actually wanted to live my life. He had never been there when I needed him. I at least wanted to have fun and enjoy life, to have something more than just the Wehrmacht to keep me warm at night and company during the day, to have living friends instead of dead fallen soldiers to remember. I wanted to live for the future and not be dead in the past. It was at this moment I suddenly felt an unaccustomed cruel streak rise in me and I viciously said the final words I would speak to my father for almost a year.

"Perhaps if you had been a better officer, if you had led your men more effectively and had fought harder, Germany wouldn't have lost the war. Perhaps so many men under your command wouldn't have perished for nothing.

In just a few strides, my father crossed the room until he was mere inches from where I was stood my ground so defiantly against him. Without warning he backhanded me hard, twice, across the face. The blows nearly toppled me over from the force. In a voice that barely contained his anger, he said, "Boy, you know nothing of what you speak of and I pray to God you never do."

He turned his back to me and went to look out the window, staring out over the academy grounds. In a calm voice he ordered me from his sight, due to my disrespect for all the German soldiers who had fought with honor, especially those who had not returned, and because of my disrespect to him.

My father then informed me I was not welcome at home and that I was not to return there until I learned how to have proper respect for him, for my heritage, for my uniform, and myself.

I brusquely left, not bothering to ask for his permission to be dismissed. I returned to class with his palm marks still clearly visible against my face, my fellow cadets wondering and staring at them without daring to say a word.

I found out later that it was indeed due to his intervention with the commandant that I hadn't been expelled. He had secured my place by personally vouching for my future conduct. It was something which never should have been his responsibility.

I made a vow at that moment never to find myself in a position again where I would need his assistance.

I didn't see my father again until I graduated almost a year later. I didn't even return home for Christmas that year, preferring to forgo seeing my mother and sister than to be in his presence. I have always considered the year that I was estranged from my family a lost year of my life. I remembered very little of it except for my heavy drinking and the many faceless women who had served for one purpose only. I had managed to maintain a high class standing, but it was not at my previous level.

Only when Matthias took me aside, did that I begin to seriously focus on my studies again. He frankly said that he much preferred the arrogant ass that I had been to the stupid fool I was quickly becoming.

I took his words to heart. I ceased the excessive drinking and womanizing. I refocused on my studies and regained my standing. However, I still refused to contact my father.

Due to my renewed efforts, I managed to graduate near the top of my class. I said what little was necessary to my father at my graduation to maintain civility and primarily as a courtesy for the sake of my mother and my sister. The stiff and formal relationship I had always held with my father was even more so than it had been before our altercation. When I was in his presence, I felt a constant tension, which never seemed to relax in the slightest. It angered me even more that my father seemed oblivious to it as he continued our relationship as if the situation had never occurred.

It wasn't until after I had returned from my trip to Benghazi and after my conversation with the fortune-teller that I made a concerted effort to repair the relationship with my father. I learned to contain my emotions, focusing instead on the analytical. I would no longer allow myself to be driven by my emotions and my desires. With that realization, I had matured overnight into adulthood, to dedicate my life to honor of my chosen profession, and to the soldiers who would serve with me.

It was only in hindsight and with the wisdom that comes from experience, both on and off the battlefield, which I had realized the naïve cruelty of the words I had spoken to my father in my fit of anger. Although I always kept my thoughts to myself, I was convinced Germany would lose the war, just as it had lost the previous one. When the war finally ended and if I was lucky enough to return home, I would be living the same life my father had, the one I had scorned with such distaste. I, too, would do my best to take care of the physically and mentally broken soldiers who had loyally served me on the battlefield and who had nowhere else to turn for any type of assistance. I would care for them as one would care for one's family, because like my father, I would always consider the men who had shed their blood with me my brothers and my sons.

Yet for all these noble thoughts and self-realizations, I never could quite generate the courage to speak any words of apology to my father. My soul had a longing, a hunger for his forgiveness, but I myself was never able to admit to him my regret at the stupid and cruel words that I had said. Unable to ask for his forgiveness, not surprisingly, I was unable to forgive myself for my despicable actions. I prayed to someday have the strength to grant myself forgiveness and to finally be able to approach my father for the same peace.

It was only due to my sense of honor that I knew the oberst's words were the truth regarding the expectations for me and my responsibilities. I made no defensive comments or justifications to him. There was nothing else to say. I could not defend my combat actions or decisions. The loss alone fell under my command and I alone should be held accountable.

"Herr Oberst, I stand on my own merits and no one else's," I said firmly looking him in the eye, standing my ground. There was much more to my abilities as an officer than my heritage. I had chosen my own destiny, realizing that it was my will and not that of my father, Germany or the Fuhrer.

"Then see that you do," Neumann replied coolly. "You will need to demonstrate and prove your ability to stand behind those words, Hauptmann. You've had some impressive accomplishments on the battlefield. However, that was yesterday, and you must now prove yourself as of today and tomorrow."

"I understand."

"You will have that opportunity shortly with your next assignment. Quickly you will discover that serving out here is vastly different than the neat and precise battle campaigns that you have participated in the past, where the planning and strategy was done mostly for you and delegated downward. Here, you stand on your own two feet. And no one else's."

"I need to see to my men, Sir." I waited to be dismissed, having heard enough. I had done what I could with what little I had. It had not been enough. I could not help but to feel that I could have done more. Now it was time to see to those who had paid the price for my failure. I didn't even bother to question Neumann about his comment on next assignment. I knew it would come soon enough. It could wait. My men shouldn't have to.

Neumann didn't seem to share my priorities. "My understanding is that you speak Arabic and are familiar with the local Arab tribes, Dietrich."

"Yes that is correct, Herr Oberst." I was rather taken back at his question, or I should say, statement. My background was commonly known within the Afrika Korps and I was suspicious as to why he was now mentioning about these skills.

"Good. You will put those abilities to use sooner than you realize. Come and see me after you've had the opportunity to make yourself presentable, Dietrich. I'll expect you within fifteen minutes. I do hope that's enough time?" he asked, giving my dirty frame the once over again.

I calculated how much time it would take me to see my men and wash up. "Perhaps if I could ask for thirty minutes?"

"I'll see you in fifteen minutes, Dietrich. My tent." Neumann walked away briskly without waiting for my salute.

I watched him retreat before I shook my head slightly and turned to leave. He ignored my statement about seeing to my men, which was far more important to me than cleaning up. I had more important things to do in the next fifteen minutes and I wasn't particularity anxious to learn what he wanted to discuss with me. I quickly glanced at my watch. The fifteen minutes would provide me just enough time for me to check on my men. Cleaning up would have to suffice with my handkerchief wiping my face during the walk to his command center.


	8. Chapter 7

"Ah! Hauptmann Dietrich. You are exactly on time. I expect punctuality for those under my command."

I was momentarily taken back by Neumann's casual comment of being my commanding officer. I thought his choice of words was interesting since my current orders had me reporting up through a different chain of command. It was my belief that my only contact with Neumann was to be to deliver the supplies from this morning. I found myself growing wary of where the conversation could be heading.

"I have been at my current duty station for little more than a week, Herr Oberst. I was not expecting a change of command so soon after my arrival," I said.

Neumann ignored my statement. "Schnapps?"

Apparently, he wanted to provide me the details and information of where I reported when he was ready and not a moment sooner.

"Yes, thank you, Sir," I replied politely. I was able to restrain myself this time from looking down at my watch to confirm the early hour. Was it this common for drinking to be occurring this early in these remote areas?

He poured two glasses of the schnapps before casually reaching behind him to pick up a pack of American cigarettes.

"Cigarette?" he asked, shaking one out for me.

"Thank you." I tried not to stare at the remaining pack.

He must have noticed me fixated on it. "Here, please accept this pack and a few more." Neumann brought forth two additional packets.

"Thank you again, Herr Oberst. You are very generous." I lit both our cigarettes. I could instantly feel the rush of the nicotine as I took a deep drag. I closed my eyes for a moment to savor it.

"Thank the Americans. They were the ones who so generously left them behind for us to enjoy. I have no use for them as soldiers, but at least they are good at producing cigarettes."

I agreed, the irony not lost on me that the Americans had been the source of my stress that morning. I noticed Neumann quickly taking in my dirty and soiled appearance and I watched as he frowned. It must have been obvious to him that I had not followed through on his orders to clean up from being out in the field.

He started to say something, but apparently changed his mind as he motioned for me to have a seat near a small battered table.

I patiently waited for him to brief me on my command situation and the assignment he had referenced in passing. I didn't have long to wait.

"Hauptmann, you have been temporarily placed under my command to complete a special assignment. It is one that for which your background makes you ideally suited. The mission I am about to assign you is critical for Germany's success in the northern African campaign. Are you aware that Generaloberst Rommel's major offensive will be implemented in the near future?"

"Yes, Herr Oberst. I am aware and I am familiar with it." Although I was now assigned to the far outskirts of the German lines, major planning for the offensive had been nearly completed while I was still part of the main Wehrmacht. However, I was unaware of how much of the specifics Neumann would know as a supply officer. Given the confidentiality of the plans, I could not and would not readily divulge any of the details to Neumann.

Neumann gave an appraising look. "Your integrity and honor are to be admired, Hauptmann. I had heard you were very much traditional Wehrmacht. Now you have confirmed it. I don't believe that you would divulge any details of the plan to me even if I had placed a gun to your head." He grinned. "However, it is quite alright for you to discuss any knowledge you have of the offensive. I have full clearance since I have been ordered to play a major role in its implementation.

"I have been assigned the responsibility of ensuring the delivery of supplies for the offensive," Neumann continued. "As you saw this morning supplies are having a difficult time reaching our areas far behind lines. It is a critical situation for the main divisions of the Afrika Korps. Supplies, especially petrol and ammunition, will be critical factors for the offensive and they are currently at dangerously low levels."

"Yes, Herr Oberst," I agreed. Inwardly, I frowned. I was unsure of where this was heading and how it would involve me.

"Fortunately, there is a cache of essential supplies that are conveniently located well behind German lines. Since this depot falls in the area under my command, I have been the one assigned to manage it. You will have a major role in procuring these supplies." I looked at him curiously. I was unaware of supplies of this magnitude already assembled for the offensive.

Again, I did not understand how this would involve me. I took a small sip from my drink as I waited for him to continue. The schnapps was excellent and I felt it begin to gently course through my body. I had not had schnapps this good since the last time I went home on leave. But given that the oberst was responsible for procuring supplies, no doubt he had helped himself to some of the finest bottles that passed through his area.

"Forgive me for asking, Herr Oberst, but I'm unfamiliar with the supplies to which you are referring. Where are they located?"

Impatiently, Neumann took a rolled map from his desk. He proceeded to unfurl it, using our drink glasses to weigh down the sides. It was a map of German held territory, but I saw no supply depots marked. I looked up at him in askance.

"Here," he said, waving vaguely over the map.

"Perhaps you could be more precise on its exact location, Herr Oberst? I am unaware of a supply depot in this vicinity." I was beginning to sense that there was something out of place here, something that I did not comprehend.

"Ah, Hauptmann Dietrich!" he said with a short laugh. "This is why you are here and why you were assigned to my command. Your new orders are to locate these particular supplies. Simple, yes?"

Nothing seemed simple about it to me. Something was definitely odd here. Neumann's convoluted words were not making sense to me. It was as if he was purposely talking in circles.

"The Wehrmacht doesn't know where our own supplies are located?" I asked tentatively, forcing myself to remain respectful. The vagueness was becoming irritating and I was becoming tired of his game.

Neumann caught me off guard when he burst out laughing. "Ah, Hauptmann Dietrich! That's the beauty of this mission. They are not German supplies, they are _British!_ The Afrika Korps will be using English supplies to fight the Allies for Generaloberst Rommel's offensive." He continued to laugh, but I didn't find humor in his words, only more confusion.

"British supplies? The Allies have secured territory behind our lines for a supply depot and I am to capture it?" This would be rather bold and out of character for the English. There was something underneath the surface of this mission that was very disjointed.

"No, Dietrich, they have not established a foothold in the middle of nowhere. All you have to do is locate and secure their supply depot," Neumann explained as if to a child. The supplies to which I'm referring are a considerable cache from the early days of the desert campaign. The British 8th Army buried the supplies when they were retreating from this area." Again, Neumann motioned vaguely at the map. "No doubt their intention was to retrieve the supplies when they again held this area. With the heavy combat raging back and forth, the region has been too dangerous to allow them the necessary time to retrieve them.

"Their Intelligence has become aware that we also know of the supplies and that we will make a concerted effort to locate them for our own use. No doubt they realize they are critical for Generaloberst Rommel's success. The Allies, of course, do not want us to retrieve them and so will be seeking to destroy them to prevent them from falling into our hands."

"I've heard rumors over the months regarding the English cache. Apparently, they are true," I said more to myself, not expecting a reply from him.

"Yes, they are definitely not rumors." Neumann fixed me with a serious look. "I will repeat the situation and your orders bluntly: Hauptmann Dietrich, you are to locate and secure these supplies before the Allies can locate and destroy them."

"They also are unaware of its location?" I asked with a frown. "I would have thought…"

"Yes, one would think that the British army would have made had note of the location with more precision, but apparently that was not the case."

"That," I said slowly, "is very hard to believe."

"They definitely are not as precise as we would have been. We would not have tolerated anything so sloppy, let alone leaving the supplies behind for the enemy to possibly recover and use."

I had to agree. Such a thing was a failure of the greatest magnitude.

"Since their raid calls for a quick moving operation, your friends the Rat Patrol will most likely be the commandos assigned to complete this mission."

Of course they would be, I thought. "Does German Intelligence have any leads on its location?"

"Not in the slightest. The English have kept this secret very much to themselves. Likely because they still don't have any idea where they left their things." Neumann shook his head in amusement. "Quite the conundrum, no? This is where your language skills and relationship with the natives will be of great use."

"You wish for me to use my connections to see if any of the locals know anything about where the supplies are buried." I couldn't disagree with the logic.

"Yes, that's right. They might have some knowledge of the depot's location or even witnessed its burying."

"When am I to begin?"

"I highly recommend you begin immediately to find this cache, this needle in the haystack. I believe you fully understand the importance of it to Generaloberst Rommel's campaign as well as to your own future." He glanced down at his watch and I knew our conversation was over.

I quickly finished my schnapps and stood, slipping the packs of cigarettes into my pockets. I was ready to take my leave without another word. There was no need for the Oberst to elaborate any further. I had heard enough.

I was beginning to struggle internally about my orders. There was little if any, information as to where the cache was buried. How was I supposed to find it when even the ones who had originally buried it were unaware of its exact location? I forced my analytical ability to the surface, pushing aside any rising doubts which would only cloud my thought process.

Suddenly, the solution dawned on me: It was so perfectly obvious.

It wasn't necessary for me to find the supplies. The Allied commandos would do it for me. I only had to find the Rat Patrol and they would lead me to the cache. I would not be able to find it without them. The challenge would be to arrive there before they had the opportunity to destroy it. It was ironic that both of us had sets of orders which were complete opposites.

I looked at the Oberst, allowing a small smile to creep on my face. My orders would give me the opportunity to accomplish two things at once. I would be able to secure the supplies and rid the desert of the Rat Patrol in one fell swoop. I had already surmised that they were a problem which would only become worse unless it was dealt with quickly. Yes, I was going to enjoy ending their reign in the part of the desert I now claimed as my own. I would ensure I was the last man standing when this was over.

"Thank you again for your hospitality. I understand my orders, Herr Oberst. I will return to my base camp and begin planning the mission immediately."

"See that you do Herr, Hauptmann. I am not a man to be kept waiting. I will be expecting an update shortly on how you to achieve your mission.

I saluted. "I understand."

"And understand this, Dietrich. Anything less than complete success will be considered a failure, and failure is not acceptable in our line of work."


	9. Chapter 8

My conversation with the Oberst was shorter than I had expected, but it was already in the mid-afternoon when it concluded. I made the decision to immediately return to our camp even though it would be in the early evening when we finally arrived. It would be dangerous to travel in the fading light, but I believed it was a risk necessary to take.

The morning's raid needed to be promptly analyzed while it was still fresh in our minds and I needed to begin planning for the capture of the British supplies. We could not afford to waste a precious second with so much depending on our mission. No, I was never one to delay hard work and I had much to accomplish in a very short span of time.

I knew it was common for soldiers to relax their diligence after experiencing combat. Often, they believe that they will not be attacked again by the same enemy within such a short time period. I had seen this occur too frequently and I needed for the men to remain alert and attentive.

I ordered my men to be on their guard and to be prepared for another possible ambush. A second hit against us so soon would be more difficult to repel than the previous one and it could be disastrous. We were now even further undermanned due to our casualties and had fewer weapons at our disposal. I wouldn't put it past the Rat Patrol to hit us again today, although I rationalized that such an action would be unlikely.

To begin with, we were now a much less attractive target without the supply vehicles. While damaging or destroying the remaining half-tracks or panzers would still be keenly felt by the Afrika Korps, they would be much more difficult to damage or destroy than the unarmored supply trucks. The payoff for the Rat Patrol would be much smaller against the greater risk they would be assuming.

A second reason was they had lost the key element of surprise. They would naturally assume that we would be much more diligent after the last attack and would be prepared for a second one. Also, compared to our previous route, our current one was not as advantageous for a surprise attack. I had ordered a return which took us much deeper in German held territory. Also to our advantage, the terrain was much flatter and more open with few, if any, natural landmarks available to conceal the Rat Patrol. This route gave the upper hand to us, and took it away from them.

Finally, the main reason I firmly believed they would not attack us again today was due to their single casualty. Even though they had only lost one man to our three, their loss had an exponential impact against them. The single loss meant that the second .50 caliber weapon would be unmanned. To attack with only one heavy weapon would be foolhardy. They would need to replace their casualty if they were to remain effective. My instincts clearly told me it would not take long to achieve this. However, I seriously doubted it would be accomplished in the matter of mere hours.

It would be interesting to see how quickly and successfully the lead soldier would find a replacement and integrate him into his team. I needed to assume that he would succeed. It would be dangerous for me to think anything else. Even after only a single encounter with the Rat Patrol, I firmly believed that this commando group was something with which to be reckoned and the capabilities of its leader should definitely not be underestimated.

It had fleetingly crossed my mind that there could be more than one commando team operating in this general area. It would explain the numerous commando sightings in varied locations within relatively short time periods. After careful consideration, I placed this possibility aside. From what little information I was able to gather, the Rat Patrol patterns were too consistent and the operations too similar for there to be more than one team. I also knew their Jeeps were highly maneuverable and could move quickly over the desert terrain.

No, I was convinced it was just one team lead by one man, a man who was very capable and deadly at his assigned profession.

It was already past dusk when we returned to our camp and as I had anticipated, the return trip had been uneventful. Two of my wounded men had been able to return with us and I immediately had them attended to by our camp's medical personnel. I was already seriously short of men and I didn't want to take the chance of them being assigned elsewhere when I wasn't there to protest. The one seriously wounded man left behind was fortunate that he was in an excellent field hospital. He was expected to make a full recovery and I would push for his return to my unit as soon as he was cleared for duty.

It was necessary for me to file a status report and I radioed in the disastrous results after I had carefully written it out in detail. I frankly didn't see much value for my efforts. I had already given my verbal report to the Oberst shortly after the attack and I didn't particularly care to officially relive my first combat failure so soon after assuming this command. Still, the report assisted me in gathering my thoughts as I was forced to transfer them paper. It provided me the opportunity to stress that our route from this morning should not be used in the future for transporting supplies, or for anything else. It was obviously too well known to the Rat Patrol. However, I believed the route could be used as an opportunity to capture the commandos in the future by staging a decoy column through it.

I wanted to waste no time in analyzing this morning's mission while it was still fresh in our minds. I knew the problem of the Rat Patrol had to be addressed and I gave it my full attention. Hoffman and I probed and dissected this morning's ambush late into the evening without stopping. He had been at the rear of the convoy and would have experienced a different perspective than mine. I probed his thoughts how this ambush was similar to those in the past, how it was different, what we could do different in the future. The results could have been worse, I frankly told myself, but they should have been much better.

I released Hoffman shortly before midnight, telling him to catch a few hours' sleep before dawn arrived with all its additional demands. He appeared ready to collapse in front of me, from both the physical and emotion strain of the day. I knew I had pushed him to his limit when he started to become frustrated at my constant questions and scrutiny. In an exasperated voice, he finally said that he had told me everything he had witnessed and knew nothing else. Overall, I thought that he had handled himself well.

It was late when I wearily sat down at the now neatly organized desk. It had taken me several hours, but I had finally sorted and filed all the mess that Meyer had so graciously left behind for me. My final task of the day would be to write letters to the families of my fallen soldiers notifying them of their loss. It was now time to officially take care of the dead.

I reached up to my breast pocket to take out a folded piece of paper, briefly touching the cigarettes but forcing myself to leave them in place. I gently unfolded the paper, smoothing the creases which allowed the two names to leap from the page. The two dead were two too many, I thought silently. They were boys who had looked years older given what they had witnessed. I had witnessed the same but it was different for me. It had always been expected for to become a soldier, while these other poor boys had had their dreams of life interrupted by mad men who were forcing their dreams into a reality.

I felt a sadness rise in me, which I attempted half-heartedly to push aside.

My faith assured me that they were now at peace and in a better place. Yet I no longer received any comfort from this knowledge. I had seen too many fellow soldiers and friends killed and buried over the last three years. At times, I felt like I was the only one remaining, the only one still standing, of everyone I had known.

How many of these letters had I written over the last three years, I asked myself? A dozen? Two scores? Eyes closed, I shook my head. I had written so many letters of boys' deaths, boys who had aged beyond than their years. Now they were dead. Their faces and souls reached out from the past and briefly touched me. I felt their presence before they mercifully retreated again into my mind.

Their names and faces flashed before me, slowing down as they neared the present. I remembered all of their faces just as I remembered the faces of all of those I had killed. In the beginning I forced myself to keep a mental tally, believing I owed it to them for what they had sacrificed. I tried to force myself to release this count, but I was never able to do so like other officers I knew.

I wondered how many more letters would I have to write to loved ones if the war lasted two more years? Another five years? Five more years would make it 1947. Would I still even be alive in 1947?

She had said that I would be.

At this point, I was unsure and beginning not to care. I firmly believed Nazi Germany would not even have the resources to endure until that date. At any rate, five more years of war was difficult to contemplate.

I believed I owed it to the dead to send a final remembrance to their loved ones. While my letters were always formal I made the effort to at least add one personal note regarding the individual soldier. This was becoming more and more difficult to include since I knew my soldiers less and less due to the constant loss and turnover.

I had written to wives, parents and sisters. Young wives who had small children at home and older women who had now lost their only son. I wrote to a few fiancées as a courtesy when a soldier had requested me to do so if they fell. To spare the emotions of the family, I always wrote that their loved one had died quickly and painlessly. I would not, I could not share how their husband, son, brother had died in agony, screaming for his God, any God, to mercifully take him. Nor would I add how he would beg for his remote mother to provide some type of comfort as he passed from this life.

How many men had grabbed at my shirt with blood covered hands begging for me to kill them? If mercy killings weren't strictly forbidden I would have ended several lives myself.

I studied the two names in front of me. For the life of me, I knew nothing else about them except their names. How much could I possibly come to know about any of them in a week? I stopped for a moment, looking up to contemplate my thoughts. Except for Hoffman, I knew nothing of my men's personal lives. Even with him, the only thing I knew was that he was from Hamburg and that was only because he had casually mentioned it in passing.

Gone were the days before the war when I had the luxury of knowing my men. Now they were killed and replaced, with the replacements only to be killed again before I scarcely knew their names. Perhaps, I told myself, not knowing them was for the best. For me to actually know the men I was ordering to their deaths would have been overwhelming.

I closed my eyes and softly prayed out loud, not caring if any one heard my private plea to my God.

"Lead me, merciful God, with your spirit. Lead me out beyond myself and my own concern. Lead me to that fruitful land of wholeness and peace, even though the path be through the desert. Lead me through the temptations that assault me, and that having been tested, that I may be found fit and faithful for your service. I ask in the name of my Savior and Redeemer, Jesus Christ. Amen."

I opened my eyes, but I felt no comfort. I felt nothing in the least. I stared across the blank emptiness of my tent still not being able to write. I knew I needed to begin, to complete the task on the night of their death, but I kept postponing it. Completing the letters would be my final contact with the two men on this Earth and I wanted to stay connected to them for just a few more seconds. Once I sealed the letters, it would be the same as sealing their coffins. My physical connection to them would be forever severed.

"Why are you missing during those moments when I am in need of your comfort the most?" I softly questioned. "Are you sleeping or have you covered your eyes and ears to me and my brothers?" I still felt nothing.

"Damn you," I softly cursed.

I reached hungrily into my pocket for the cigarettes and matches, hardly being able to wait until I could light one. I furiously struck a match and greedily lit a cigarette, hating myself for needing the crutch. I deeply drew on it and then angrily blew a plume of smoke to the ceiling, being careful not to drop any ash or embers on my writing paper. I sat there furiously smoking for several minutes until the edges of my unease and frustration had finally worn away. It wasn't until then that I was able to gather my thoughts and begin writing, the lit cigarettes my only companion to witness the task.

What little sleep I did manage that night was restless and fitful. For the first time, the American visited me in my dreams, anonymous and faceless, never saying a word. I was unaware of how I realized that it was he, but I instantly recognized him. I knew he wanted something from me, but I was unable to understand exactly what. He beckoned me to walk with him and reached out for my hand, much as a lover would for a rendezvous. His rough hand cool and dry in mine, I went with him, reluctantly at first but then willingly.

I watched myself step away from the peaceful serenity of my home in Coburg into the wilds of the United States to be with him, never looking back, willing to travel this different path of life with him. There was also the presence of an unknown woman around us. I knew she was near us as we walked, always present but hidden from sight, as if not wanting to reveal her until the right moment presented itself. I was unable to discern if she was the fortune teller. However, my instinct advised me she was someone different. Someone I had not met before.

I woke with a start with my heart pounding.

I sat up quickly from my cot, realizing that it had only been a dream. I quickly looked over to the desk hoping that the letters were also a dream, but they were visible on my desk, neatly stacked and patiently waiting to accomplish their assigned task. Eventually, I relaxed and settled back on my cot, able to snatch some sleep before I arose early for another day.

I didn't look at the horizon as the sun rose. I didn't want to see it. Two men, or perhaps three if the Allied commando was indeed dead, would not be here to witness the dawn's glory.

I noticed hardness about my eyes in the mirror as I shaved that hadn't been there previously. There was a fierce intensity there, a witness to what they had seen yesterday. This was different than the massive combat I had seen before, here in the desert and in France. This combat with the Rat Patrol was much more personal and intimate. It had reached down and grabbed my soul unlike the other combat I had experienced.

And as much as I hated to admit it, perhaps Meyer had been correct.


	10. Chapter 9

I knew this was one of those rare occasions that it would be necessary for me to take a gamble and work with the native Bedouins. I only reluctantly worked with them when I believed the situation absolutely warranted it. Our war had nothing to do with them.

They had been living their nomadic life without incident and interruption for hundreds of year until the chaos of war had descended upon them. I honestly believed they wanted all of us to simply leave, both the Allies as well as the Axis. I couldn't find fault with them for this ideology. I would feel the same way if my homeland had been invaded several times over my lifetime.

As a result, I could never be certain which side the locals supported in this war. While I knew there were several tribes who openly supported the Axis, there were just as many who backed the Allies. I considered the vast majority somewhere in the middle, not really caring which side won as long as everyone departed when the conflict was over. And no doubt, the end could not arrive soon enough for everyone, including all of us combatants.

While I had received useful information from the natives at times, I also knew that they in turn were supplying information regarding us to the Allies. As much as I compensated the local natives, I had to assume that they were receiving double compensation for supplying the same data twice when they notified the Allies of our plans. At other times, I suspected that they merely told us all merely what we wanted to hear in order to escape the situation.

I always cautioned myself to closely scrutinize the accuracy of any paid information I received from anyone. I carefully reviewed all material, not just from the Arabs but also from any of those from the neutral countries who were always willing to give their support for a small fee. How accurate could the data be if one had to pay for it?

It was the opportunists working both sides and changing their allegiance without a moment's notice when it suited their purpose that I was most wary. I frankly couldn't blame those that found themselves in the middle. Both the Axis and the Allies were making alliances and promises with everyone only to break them just as quickly when the situation merited it.

There were a few locals who I truly considered my friends. I did my best to look after them when they were in my area of command. Some of them I had known from before the war and they would greet me warmly as a brother. They were the ones who stated their thoughts of Germany's remote chance of success as they graciously shared tea with me in their tents. They knew I would never inform or punish them due to these beliefs. This made me different from many of the fanatical Nazis that they had encountered during the war.

For living a nomadic lifestyle, some of the locals were surprisingly well informed on world affairs. They already knew what was happening to those caught within the Nazis' snares. Most of these men couldn't believe I was part of such a folly as Nazi Germany. Knowing me, they doubted I could possibly share its beliefs.

A few had even boldly offered to hide me if I came to my senses and deserted from the Wehrmacht. I would always thank them for their generosity as I politely refused, knowing the great danger they placed themselves by even offering. They greatly admired my loyalty (or was it foolishness?) but they predicted Germany would fail in the end, just as so many countries had done here in the past.

One friend had been offended when I had worn my uniform to visit him, believing I was there for informational purposes rather than for friendship. I assured him that I was not there for any military reason. He remained suspicious, asking why I thought it necessary to bring armed men if I was only visiting him as a friend. When I politely mentioned that he too had armed men posted outside in case I acted foolishly, he brought up that I had never worn my uniform in his tent before the war. I reminded him I had been in the military when we knew each other before the war. He just as quickly countered that I was wearing the uniform of his country's invaders at the time.

The scarcity of time did not give me the luxury of debating the wisdom of the decision I made last night. I made a calculated estimate as to where I thought the cache could be buried and then contacted the local tribe. I had not encountered this nomadic tribe previously and was not familiar with its leader. It was a minor tribe and I believed would be more advantageous to my mission. It had been my experience that smaller tribes were more likely to work with the Germans than a larger one. There was a greater need for the monetary reward and since there were fewer tribal members, each tribesman would receive a greater share.

We were both apprehensive about meeting the other, although I knew I had the upper hand over the chieftain. He met me warily as the blazing sun beat down on the two of us. He appeared not to feel the sun's intensity in the slightest.

A remote part of me was concerned about him being targeted as a collaborator, both now and after the war. I knew what was happening in France to those working with the Germans. I was concerned about the same retaliatory acts occurring here against those who assisted me. Those thoughts disappeared almost instantly when I met him. I soon discovered that he had worked with the Germans before and that he clearly had no concerns about doing so again.

Although the desert has a way of aging men far beyond their years, he appeared old enough to be my father with his wrinkled skin and full gray mustache. He spoke only when I questioned him, saying and offering nothing else beyond his simple answers. Without the lucrative compensation of Nazi gold, I doubted if the man would have provided any answers or, if he would have had any regrets of simply killing me to be on his way.

I saw many things on the man's sun weathered face as he stood in front of me. Foremost was the loathing. I could see it clearly across his face as if it had been painted by an artist: The dislike of me personally as a man, the hatred of the uniform I wore and finally, repugnance for the foreign country the uniform and I represented. It was easy for me to place aside his loathing for I cared little about it. I had been despised by so many nationalities in so many different places; I had forced myself to become immune to it.

Beneath his loathing, I could see something else. The clear mark of fear. His fear of me sprang from the same elements that he loathed so greatly. The man clearly knew the promise and power from the regime my uniform represented. He had seen the results against others if they did not cooperate and deliver what we wanted and needed. I had no qualms about exploiting his fear since I knew what I could gain from it.

This was not normally the method I preferred using when I needed collaboration from others, the natives or any agents who entered the German sphere of influence. For this situation, I felt I had no choice except to use it. It was a dangerous dance I did with him and others only when I believed it absolutely necessary for success. I never mentioned any threats if they chose not to work with me; only the rewards if they made the correct decision. The threats didn't need to be spoken. They were clearly understood by all of us involved.

But of everything, I saw greed etched on his face. I knew this would be the ultimate driving motivation for his willingness to freely capitulate to Germany and my demands which were so politely framed as requests. When I recognized the greed, I knew that I owned him. His pent up desires of what the gold would deliver to him for the small price of his cooperation was barely contained. I knew deep down inside that the gold would mostly line only his pockets, with the vast majority of his tribe left without any.

The Bedouin had called me "Efendi" several times. I knew that he put no real meaning behind the word. His eyes gave him away. They were devoid of anything but burning hatred and greed. There was no respect coming from him, but I hadn't expected nor wanted any. The man could think what he wanted of me as long as I received what I needed and desired.

I went back to studying the map in front of me. Over the last few days the chieftain had provided me with a few useful leads. He readily admitted that he and his tribe did not know where the supplies were buried and would not even hazard a guess. The area was too large and the English had been in too many places during the war. I knew he was telling me the truth. If he had known differently he would have bargained and held out for compensation. To blatantly lie would bring down consequences he was not willing to face.

The most useful piece of information he had given me was what they had actually not seen. His tribe had not encountered the Rat Patrol in the outlying areas during the previous month. This enabled me to greatly narrow the search area from what I had originally scoped. At least I knew where they weren't and if they were not in the area, then the supplies would not be buried there, either.

The area was still too large for me to realistically pinpoint the supplies or the Rat Patrol, in my narrow time frame. Without realizing it, I softly spoke out loud in German to the chieftain still standing in front of me. It was only when I saw the puzzled look appear on his face that I realized I had verbalized my thoughts in a language he didn't understand.

"When one looks for a needle in a haystack, one might get stuck," I translated. I looked up at where he stood to gauge his understanding. I had not offered him a chair while I was seated comfortably. It was a not so subtle demonstration that I held the upper hand over him.

"We know they buried it. We must find the place where the English buried the ammunition and gasoline, we must!" The sun was very strong, forcing me to squint. I could feel the perspiration on my brow and would have preferred to remove my jacket, but I didn't want to appear weak in front of him. I stood up and dropped several gold coins into his hand, paying for the information he had provided and more importantly, ensuring he return to fulfill the remainder of his greed.

"There will be many more when you find the supplies," I reiterated to him. "But watch out for the English and the Americans. Especially the Americans."

The tribesman nodded, his eyes full of understanding.

"Yes my brother, there is a certain unit I have met before. Wouldn't it be amusing if they led us to it?" I couldn't help but grin at my words.

This is what I had envisioned from the beginning.


	11. Chapter 10

I rarely believe in luck or the absence of it. "Unlucky" is an excuse that people use for their lack of skill, or to, explain their incompetence. I have always believed in making my own luck from my skills, proficiencies and analytical abilities. As to my failures, I readily accepted them, believing them to be an opportunity for future self-improvement.

Those who rely on luck do not realistically assess the situation, whether it is a success or a failure. As a result, they fall into a trap of lost opportunities. By not recognizing their shortcomings or working to raise their standards, they never really take command of their own destiny. Instead, they are always waiting for the opportunities to arrive and be delivered to them in a tidy package with a bow.

I had never been one to wait for an opportunity, but I now found myself in the unexpected position of wishing for a lucky break, no matter how small, to successfully accomplish this mission. I had done everything I believed possible to locate the Rat Patrol, but still had had no success. They were the needle I needed to find, the needle that kept eluding me no matter how diligently I pursued it.

Finally, this needle showed a glimmer of itself and I was granted an unexpected piece of luck the following day.

I received a report from a lone Luftwaffe pilot who had spotted two American Jeeps approximately 30 kilometers away. He had been on a reconnaissance patrol when they caught his eye, definitely not belonging in this part of the desert and so far behind German lines. Believing them to be an easy target, he unsuccessfully engaged them before having to break away.

The pilot was unable to confirm if it was the Rat Patrol. I had no doubts in my mind it was they. Obviously there were focused on the same goal as I and they had resurfaced. There was no other reason for them to be in this part of the desert. It was as the oberst has theorized: they would be the likely ones assigned to destroy the buried supplies. As much as I hated to admit it, I would have been greatly disappointed if the Allies had sent another commando team for this raid. I made a mental promise for this meeting to end differently than the last. I would that this time when the smoke from the battle had cleared, that the Rat Patrol would cease to exist.

The pilot's sighting provided me a definite geographic location of the commando's current position. From their tracks, he was also able to provide me the approximate direction in which they currently were heading. I now knew the approximate area the British had buried the supplies, but it was still too vast for me to search. I needed one more reference point to extrapolate the depot's actual location.

There was a part of me which cursed the idiot pilot. Except for providing a fixed location for the commandos, all he had accomplished was shooting up the desert. It would have been better if the pilot had pretended not to notice them, instead just noting their position. Deep down inside I knew I was being unfair to him. How was the pilot to know of my orders? In the pilot's mind they were the enemy and needed to be dealt with harshly.

I believed we now had the advantage and had forced the Rat Patrol to be on the defensive. They must have assumed that their mission was compromised and their position noted to German headquarters. Their best case scenario was that we would dismiss the pilot's sighting and not correlate it to the hidden supplies. Their worst case scenario was that they knew we were aware of their mission and would actively pursue them based on their last known position. If they assumed this scenario, their mission would become more urgent. The commandos would become more dangerous and unpredictable to ensure its success. From my single encounter with him, I strongly suspected their leader would do anything necessary to accomplish his mission.

I focused on the latter. The leader's logical choice was to expect the worst to guarantee his success. He was resourceful and must know that their sighting had been forwarded to all units of the Afrika Korps. He would assume we also knew of the reason for their position. Even if the Rat Patrol was unsuspecting of our pursuit, they were deep behind German lines and every moment they delayed put them at greater risk of being captured or killed.

The pilot provided one piece of information which I did find very interesting. The two Jeeps were again fully manned with four men. The leader hadn't delayed in finding a replacement for his team. But then again, I hadn't expected him to wait. He could not afford the luxury given the urgency of his mission. In even the few moments I had encountered him, I had determined his character. Like me, he was also a man of action, one who had neither the desire nor patience to wait.

I could not help but wonder about the quality of the replacement and how he would contribute to the team's success. I briefly speculated about the man, but I dismissed these thoughts. My conjectures meant nothing without any solid evidence of his abilities. I would discover who he was and learn about his proficiencies in good time, but for the moment it was an unknown I was unable to address.

I met the Arab leader later in the afternoon at an agreed upon rendezvous point. Apparently, my luck continued to hold. He and three of his tribesmen had also spotted the Rat Patrol, but in a different location than the pilot. This was the other critical piece of information I needed: I now had a second reference point to determine their direction and destination.

I quickly calculated that the commandos were sweeping to the west, in a straight array from where the pilot had spotted them. It was now obvious to all of us the general location where the supplies were hidden. We only needed to locate the precise spot. They were to the south of us, forced to take a longer route given that they were our territory and needed to avoid any German patrols.

I quickly glanced up at the sun. The day was rapidly expiring for all of us involved, the Rat Patrol as well as for my column. By this time tomorrow it would all be over. Only one side could be victorious: Either the supplies would be secured by us or they would be destroyed by the Rat Patrol. We were now entering the final phase of this mission and it was time to bring it rapidly to a close.

I turned back to the Bedouin, to give him my final orders. I was at the critical phase and would be unable to complete my mission without him. He stood, face blank, not caring who the victor was as long as he was richly compensated. If the Rat Patrol had approached him first, he would have just as eagerly provided them information against us.

"This is the last place you saw them," I reiterated to the chieftain, showing him the map and their last known location. I detailed the direction they were traveling. He looked at me with amusement and contempt. He had no need of maps as we did to travel the desert. I was a European telling a Bedouin of the desert.

"They must halt somewhere for the night," I said out loud, more for my sake than his. I was already thinking ahead, trying to determine their next moves. To travel at night would be a foolhardy and dangerous move for them to make. It was an act I doubted even the Rat Patrol leader would dare.

He would be risking a major equipment failure which could strand them behind German lines, a catastrophic event. It would prevent him from completing his raid and open his team up for capture. This was the one time I did not want him to be apprehended. The success of my mission was dependent on his freedom. If he was captured instead of locating the supplies, I instinctually knew that he would never divulge the location.

For the same reasons, my column would also need to stop for the night. I briefly considered returning to my base camp but dismissed the idea almost immediately. It would place us too far away from the approximate site of the munitions. I needed to stay in the area and could not waste even a moment of time traveling tomorrow. I would have preferred staying at our current location, but I believed it would alert the Rat Patrol. If they knew we were pursuing them, I did not want them to know just how close behind them we were.

I knew of another German camp which was close and would be more advantageous to us. It would keep us in the field without the necessity of traveling any significant distance. I was reluctant to inform my camp of the change of plans, but I thought it an unfortunate necessity. I would need to take the risk of the eavesdropping Allies breaking our code and notifying the Rat Patrol of my location. I could not take the chance for the Germans to dispatch a search party and interrupt my plans.

"Don't disturb them yet," I stressed to the Arab leader. "You are not to engage or contact them. It is critical." I knew if the Rat Patrol suspected their involvement they would disappear like a cool breeze on a hot summer's day. They would, if necessary, wait for a more opportune occasion in the near future to detonate the supplies.

The chieftain gave me a mock bow and left, giving orders to his men as he did so. No doubt he felt obligated to show some respect to me, even if I was paying for it. He would receive his final payment tomorrow after he delivered me the third and final sighting of the Rat Patrol. The commandos would then be at the hidden cache.

I returned to my own men who were patiently waiting for their orders. I gave them the coordinates to the nearby camp, ordering them to change direction and leave immediately. We would quarter there for the night, even if we were forced to sleep outside in the elements.

I climbed aboard a half-track and signaled for the column to proceed. I sat instead of standing, allowing myself to slightly relax. The Rat Patrol would not attack us this evening. No, they would not risk the success of their mission. We were only a side issue, to be dealt with later at their leisure. The Rat Patrol would attack us first only if eminently threatened. Their leader, whoever he was, would maintain his focus and concentrate only on the buried supplies.


	12. Chapter 11

I woke before dawn the next day feeling fully rested. This camp, even more remote than my own, had generously shared what little they had with us. I had retired at a decent hour and had slept surprisingly well. No dreams of the American, no waking up in the middle of the night with "what ifs" or "I should haves", no doubts or anxiety about the mission. I accepted that I had prepared as well as I was able and now all that remained outstanding was the final completion of my orders.

We left early in the morning, soon after I had graciously thanked the commanding Hauptmann for his hospitality. He wished us success on our mission, hoping we would secure the supplies while also finally bringing an end to the Rat Patrol. He, too, had been attacked by them and had lost several men to their raids. I had to wonder if a German unit even existed which hadn't had the misfortune to make their acquaintance.

Eerily, he used the same words as Meyer to describe them: "Four men and two Jeeps, everywhere and nowhere at once." He complimented us on inflicting the one casualty, frankly stating I had accomplished more in one encounter than the rest of the Afrika Korps combined. He was able to provide me with a few details of their operations and I readily made notes of his observations. I expected to put an end to them today, but his observation could be useful if the Allies launched a replacement team which used their same methods of operations.

We needed to move quickly and I was pleased I had limited my column before we left our base camp yesterday. I had forced myself to pare the column to five vehicles: Two panzers, two half-tracks and the ladder truck which I had decided to add at the last moment. Although they limited our mobility, the panzers would provide us with heavier fire power than the half-tracks. The ladder truck offered us the ability to locate the commandos given the vast distance we were searching. Unfortunately, the small number of vehicles also reduced the number of men which could accompany me. I would have preferred more resources since I knew what the Rat Patrol was capable of accomplishing even with their very limited resources.

We soon arrived at the rendezvous point I had given the chieftain. I waited patiently for almost an hour, forcing myself to be calm as my adrenalin was surging. I seriously doubted he would walk away from such a lucrative financial opportunity in its final moments. I knew that the Bedouin must be in the near vicinity searching for the Rat Patrol. It would only be a matter of time for the natives to pinpoint the Rat Patrol's location and indicate it to us.

I kept scanning the horizon and finally, off in the distance I spotted a faint movement. I sent a man up the ladder and I could see him focus on something in the distance. He promptly confirmed that it was the Arab tribe and that they had spotted the Rat Patrol. Their leader was rapidly motioning their direction indicating we had little time to spare. The man called down the coordinates and we immediately departed on the final leg to put our mission to an end. I had suspected that we were close to the depot and now my suspicions had been confirmed. Now it was a pure race of speed to prevent the commandos from carrying out their mission before we could complete our own.

It was a battle of time as to which team would arrive first at the supplies. We were racing against each other with exact opposite goals. My objective was to capture the depot. Theirs was to destroy it. Time was limited for the both of us, but I accepted the fact that the Rat Patrol held the distinct advantage over me. They had a more precise knowledge of the depot's location.

Even with their advantages, they would be the ones doing the actually difficult work for both groups. I merely had to find the Rat Patrol after they had already located our mutual goal. I needed only to give them enough rope to hang themselves. However, I knew if I gave them too much rope, it would give them the crucial moments necessary to complete their mission while I failed at mine.

It was a deadly game which in the last moment I could either win or lose. There was no guaranteed outcome. I had seen on numerous occasions that even if you are on the defense, you may be able to turn the tide if you steadily persist. All it took was the smallest opportunity, and the ability to advantage of it to reach victory.

As each moment passed, I knew that my window of opportunity was closing and that of the Rat Patrol was opening wider. I forced myself to remain focused.

I ordered my men to increase their speed, urging them faster and faster with waves of my arm. I never lowered my field glasses, continuously scanning the general area that the Arabs had indicated.

Finally, our efforts were rewarded. The commandos came into view. I knew the two teams had converged at this critical moment. Our engines were pushed to the limits and the sounds and it would be impossible for them to misunderstand. They would have heard us and known that we were moving rapidly.

I could see them off in the distance, small but rapidly growing in size as we raced closer. They had left the safety of the Jeeps and were kneeling down in the soft sand, the four of them digging with short shovels. Suddenly, I saw them look up. Even from our distance I could see them rapidly increase the speed of their digging.

They had found the supply cache. Obviously, they were preparing to set the explosive charges that would destroy it.

I was desperate to stop them and the destruction of the supplies. I ordered my men to fire, even though I knew they were out of range. I wanted to distract the commandos by rattling their nerves. Anything to give us the precious seconds we so desperately needed.

I saw two men break away from the digging and run to a Jeep. It immediately dawned on me that they were going to counter-attack us. With an inner grin I gave them my respect, even if I did dismiss such actions as foolhardy. I believed that I would have acted the same way if I had been in their desperate position.

The man covering the .50 caliber gun armed it as the driver pulled away. The Jeep's actions had the desired effect in that we were forced to cover ourselves from the attack, losing precious seconds in the process. I ordered the panzers to engage the lone Jeep while I led my other men to stop the other commandos.

The two men continued digging, completely focused on their task. They knew we were very near, but they continued to stubbornly persist. I saw them plant what must be the final charges. I knew we were in the final seconds of the race. We were now firing at close range. While at our speed we were not succeeding in hitting them, I saw with satisfaction that we had damaged the remaining Jeep. At least that would prevent the two from escaping or taking any additional explosives from it.

They finally rose from the ground and seized some nearby equipment. When they quickly ran to the side and threw themselves to the ground, I knew that it was not to find cover from our firing. I instantly realized what was imminent.

I accepted the fact that I had failed against them for a second time in less than a week.

They couldn't have timed the detonation more perfectly. The exact moment we arrived, the first charges ignited. Then, the chain reaction of detonations began throughout the area. Before I could order my men to move, there was a tremendous explosion underneath my half-track. We were directly over the cache. The vehicle was thrown onto its side. All of us were thrown out of it like spineless rag dolls.

We scrambled for what cover we could in the sand to prevent us from being hit from the flying debris. I calmly thought that at any second the sand beneath me would erupt when the chain reaction reached us. But it never did. There was nothing more I could do except witness the cache's final destruction. All around us the explosions continued without ending. Ever the good soldier, I couldn't help but feel the frustration at the Wehrmacht losing so much of what we so desperately needed.

I could see all of the annihilation and devastation from my vantage point pressed on the ground. It reminded me of a holiday fireworks display in which I had unfortunately wandered. It was all actually rather pretty, if one discounted the horrible sounds and the terrible smells of our defeat. All around, my men were dying for a quest that was not meant to succeed.

Even over the deafening explosions I could hear the other Jeep return. The Panzers had not succeeded in destroying these two men any more than we had succeeded in stopping the two men that were responsible for the destruction surrounding me. They had returned for their men. They would not leave them for us to capture.

I could see the Jeep come to an abrupt halt. The two men quickly crowded into it. They were making good their escape leaving us Germans to the nothing that remained. They were leaving without a scratch, while I had again lost several men.

They passed in front of me. For the first time, I was able to observe them closely. Their uniforms showed no ranks, and I was immediately struck that each man wore a different headgear. One of the men had an undeniable presence and strength about him. I instantly recognized him. I knew that he was the lead sergeant. The exploding munitions and petrol shot out plumes of flames and smoke framing him like a portrait. It was obvious that the danger around him didn't concern him in the least.

I wondered where his courage came from and how it came so easily to him, even though his situation was fraught with such peril. He obviously possessed a self-confidence and freedom generated from deep within him that fueled his apparent lack of concern for his own life and that of his team. A part of me yearned to have his proficiency for a calling so dangerous. The lure of it was irresistible.

He had a strong jaw and direct eyes that were fearless. I instinctively knew that if a gun was held to his temple, he would still never show the slightest fear. He was confident that there was nothing that we could do against he and his team. Not at this moment, nor any time into the future. No doubt his assurance would carry that belief of immortality against us far beyond his grave.

He caught my eyes. He was so focused on returning my gaze that I don't think he was aware of any of the explosions around him. Surely he recognized me as the commanding officer of the unit he had so deftly defeated and wanted me to never forget who he was. He held my eyes as he stood in the rear of the Jeep, leaning casually against the .50 caliber weapon.

There was something else that I saw behind his eyes, and those eyes that reached down and grabbed my soul. They weren't empty and hard as I had expected. Instead, there was a depth I could follow down to the core of his being. When I reached there, I was surprised. I saw compassion there, both for me as a man and as a fellow soldier.

Divergent thoughts raced through my mind in the instant our eyes met and locked. Each of us stood our ground, not wanting to give way to the other, not daring to show any sign of weakness.

And then I knew at that precise instant, oh how I knew, it was he, the one she had foretold about. The one she had promised would be connected to my life now and into the future.

The American had finally made his appearance and had stepped into my life, here in the desert of North Africa. At times, I had carefully placed him to the back of my mind until I would suddenly remember and wonder about him, trying to guess when our paths would finally converge into one. To be honest with myself, he never really was far from my thoughts. The proof to that being when he visited me in my sleep after our first encounter just a few short nights ago.

I had never forgotten what she had said, and I had patiently waited for him all these years. A small part of me had foolishly wished (or had foolishly hoped?) that he would be fighting for Germany. But deep down inside, I had honestly known that irrational wish wasn't meant to be. Every story has an end, but I knew this story had a beginning that was just now in its infancy.

This story was my black destiny. A destiny connected to his success while my lot was to be bathed in defeat.

As much as I wanted to believe that I had chosen my own fate in life, I realized that it had been chosen for me, much as he had been. Had she also visited him, I wondered? Told him about how our lives would be inter-twined? Was this the reason why he didn't open fire when he had the perfect opportunity to cut me down with the .50 caliber?

Or was there, perhaps, a different reason for his mercy? That he was also fighting with honor, holding himself to the same code as I did? And what of the other three men who currently shared his life? Would they be connected with me into the future or were their fates meant to be different? She had not mentioned them, but perhaps they would be linked to the sergeant and thus connected to me into the future. The odds were against all four, five if you included me, surviving until the end of the war.

I desperately wanted to know how our lives would be connected, now and after the war. I wondered when we would fight together as brothers, save each other's lives. He had just now spared my life. I could only speculate how and when I would be returning the honor.

The equality of brotherhood seemed so remote and impossible. At this moment I felt like a subordinate, not as an equal or as a superior. I was on my knees in abject humiliation before him, a proud German officer almost crawling in the dirt. It was impossible to win every battle in every war, but I had never felt the sting of a loss such as this one.

I told myself to release these thoughts. There was no reason for me to feel any shame. I had lacked the means, but not the ability to defeat them. They had had no more than I did, yet they succeeded.

The man's face showed his satisfaction for what he had accomplished. Yet I saw no traces of gloating or exultation crossing his strong features.

I finally broke his gaze and looked away, down into the desert sand. I gave him this acknowledgment that he had won, that he had beaten me, if even only for this one battle.

It was now up to my skill and ingenuity to ensure the future encounters would be different, and that I would eventually win the war against him and his men. No matter what she had foretold concerning the two of us, I would still loyally serve Germany. I would seek to defeat him and put an end to him.

And like our previous encounter such a scant time ago, he soon departed and I was left with only my thoughts. I estimated less than ten intense minutes has passed from when we opened fire until this moment. Yet in the few seconds we had held each other's gaze, our lives had solidified for the future. I knew we would meet again and I knew it would never be over.

No, it would never be over. Not even when the war came to a merciful end years into the future.


	13. Chapter 12

The acrid smoke hung heavily in the air. Mixed with it were the pungent smell of death and the heavy odor of burning diesel fuel from the remains of the German vehicles. The explosions had finally stopped and the only sound on the light wind was that of the fires and wounded men crying out for assistance. I slowly arose from the hard sand and surveyed the damage, shaking my head in disbelief at the grievous loss we had suffered. The English supplies were now forever lost for Rommel's offensive. So were my men who would never fight another battle for Hitler again or live another day for themselves.

I searched for survivors and inspected the damage we had sustained against the Rat Patrol. Over a quarter of the men were dead. Of the survivors, several were wounded, their injuries wildly in their severity. Some had mere scratches while others had received gaping wounds. I had seen enough over the course of the war to realize that several of these men would not be with me by this time tomorrow. Even Hoffman was wounded, having caught of shrapnel in his shoulder. He waved off any medical assistance insisting the other men be attended to before him.

I was among the few fortunate who had not been wounded in the least. I felt a tremendous sense of shame at my perfect survival. I had not led my men to success nor had I shared their ultimate fate. It should have been me lying on the ground, not them. At the least I should have been wounded, sharing their pain.

The loss of our vehicles was equally severe. The panzers had been the furthest away. Both remained intact with no damage to them and no loss of life among their crews. Of the other vehicles, one half-track was completely destroyed while the other one was inoperable. It was doubtful that the damage to it could even be repaired. If we had been nearer to a German camp it would have been feasible to salvage it for parts, but we too far away. I ordered its destruction to prevent any of it from falling into Allied hands. The ladder truck was completely destroyed, crumpled as if some cruel giant had trampled it in a fit of anger.

We gave the wounded what medical assistance we were able from our remaining medical supplies. When we had at last stabilized them, we gathered them into the remaining vehicles. All of us were in a somber mood and little was said on the return trip to our camp. It weighed very heavy on my mind that the responsibility for the failed mission was mine and mine alone. It was I that had led them to failure and defeat, costing several of them their lives. Even more glaringly, we had missed success by mere seconds. It would be my duty as their commanding officer to restore their morale and to rebuild their confidence for when we re-engaged the Rat Patrol in the immediate future.

I knew that the German high command was eagerly awaiting news of our mission and would be expecting an update from me. I briefly radioed my superiors the results before we left the area. I gave them the barest facts acknowledging that the Rat Patrol had beaten us to the supplies by mere seconds. The results that I reported were unpleasant, but I would stand behind the tactics that I had executed. The lack of success had placed the Afrika Korps in a difficult situation and I would accept any consequences dealt to me.

To say that my command's brief reply was unpleasant would have been an understatement, but I hadn't expected it to be anything else. They acknowledged my verbal account briefly, followed with a terse command ordering me to present a detailed report in person within two days. It went without saying that far different results would be expected from me in the immediate future, including bringing the Rat Patrol to an end.

I had not included in my communique the thoughts that continued to torment my mind. If our intelligence had been better, if I could have bribed the Arabs more, if I had analyzed the information more effectively, if… But even with all of this, I knew that it would not have been enough to control the Rat Patrol's side of the equation. Its leader was an excellent warrior who would be a match against any soldier from any army. He had been dealt few cards but he had played them superbly in a difficult game to win a decisive victory against a formable foe.

When we finally returned to our camp, after seeing to the survivors, I prepared my formal report. I forced myself to examine critically the facts and the results as I continued writing it late into the afternoon. I viewed this as a necessary exercise which would enable us to improve our odds in the future. It would provide the initial details on how to succeed against them at our next encounter. Most importantly, it would become the primer on how to defeat or possibly capture them at our next encounter.

I forced myself to place aside the compassion that he had so graciously granted me. I could not, and would not, allow it to influence my orders and judgment against him or his team in the future. Emotions did not belong in warfare, especially against such a capable and shrewd enemy. I contemplated whether I would have acted the same towards him if given the situation was reversed. I admitted that I too, would have held my fire and spared his life.

I signed off on my official written report and pushed it aside, glad to be through with it. There was nothing more I could do at this point for anyone, myself included. On the far side of the desk were the letters for the dead. I had completed that task before I had begun my report. For once, I thought, the dead should come before mindless paperwork and I granted them this final respect. Upon finishing what I thought would be the final letter, I was notified of an additional death. I prayed it would be the last one from this engagement; this last passing only magnified the loss I already keenly felt.

I couldn't help but notice a disconcerting quiet that prevailed through the camp. It was much like when I had arrived. Few sounds reached me except for the slap of tent flaps stirred by the wind. All of us had retreated to our own thoughts and what little comfort they could provide.

I was vaguely staring into the close confines of my tent, when something suddenly reached out and seized my mind, instantly calming it and placing me at ease. Immediately, I rose from my chair and went to the nearby footlocker where I kept my few possessions. I stood over it for the briefest of seconds before I opened it, not wanting to continue, but unable to stop my temptation. I roughly pushed various items aside and reached to the bottom, knowing exactly where to find what I was seeking.

My fingers touched them and I gently pulled out my drawing pad and charcoals which I had placed there, hidden from my sight so long ago.

I stepped outside to catch the natural light, smiling for the first time in several months. After pausing to look out over the desert landscape, I began drawing what was foremost on my mind. My first sketch marks were tentative and then became stronger and more confident. With a cigarette dangling from my lips, I found I was unable to cease until I had captured what the desert was now offering me.

Instead of the death and destruction I had come to witness over these long months, it was now offering me something tangible with merit for the future.


	14. Chapter 13

My thoughts gradually returned me to the present. I glanced down at my drawing and frowned inwardly. I felt there was something incomplete about it, but I couldn't identify the missing element. My mind obsessively searched for it, but I was unable to detect and grasp it into reality.

To relax my thoughts and allow my creative side to return, I instead concentrated on the sunset.

The sun was beginning to set, turning the sky into the most delicate shade of a pale orange geranium. The soft color was so much different than my own destiny, I thought wryly. My current destiny was anything other than the darkest shade of black. But, I also knew that one's life and destiny can change in a moment's notice, when one least expects it or when one firmly takes control of it.

I placed my musings aside when I saw Leutnant Hoffman slowly approaching. I was surprised to see him released by the medical personnel so soon. The heavy dressings, only partially hidden by his shirt, covered his upper arm and shoulder and were, ever so slightly stained scarlet. I suspected he would downplay his wounds, insisting there were minor.

"Herr Hauptmann," he said saluting. I waved a half salute at him and motioned for him to stand at ease, my hand darkened from the charcoal.

"Your arm and shoulder?" I asked. He should be faint from the blood loss along let alone the injuries. I knew it had taken an effort on his part to come see me.

"Nothing more than a scratch, Herr Hauptmann," he assured me. "There is too much work to be done for me to lie around for the next several days doing nothing except counting flies on the tent's walls. These doctors are too much like mother hens."

"Why do I suspect your wounds are more severe than what you're leading me to believe?" I had seen him stagger into the medical tent, heavily leaning upon another soldier for support soon after we returned. He easily could have been transferred to an area behind the lines to recover for at least a month. He had instead chosen to stay.

I knew it was his loyalty to me which caused him to remain, a loyalty which I respected and needed at this critical time. His departure would have left the unit without a junior officer, a loss made even more significant with me temporarily leaving in a few days to present my report. I would need all the assistance and support he was capable of providing in the future to help me rebuild the unit and finally put an end to the Rat Patrol.

"I have received some limited information regarding the Rat Patrol," he said politely, choosing to ignore my question and focus on his message.

It was as if Hoffman was reading my thoughts. I was pleased to see him continue to speak without me needing to continually prompt him. He finally was beginning to adapt to my leadership style, no longer waiting for me to feed the questions to him. As I originally thought, he was turning into a fine officer. I could and would begin relying on him more heavily in the future.

"The Rat Patrol belongs to the 111th Armor Reconnaissance. They are commanded and led by the Americans with support from the British 8th Army. They are under the command of a Colonel Quint who arrived with the initial force of Americans. Their direct command is an American named Sam Troy. He is their lead sergeant who plans and executes their raids."

"Sam? Not Samuel?" I asked with a frown. "The truncated form would be unusual as a given name. But then again, Americans are known for their unusual behavior. No doubt it carries over to how they name their children."

"The name Intelligence gathered was 'Sam'. Unknown if it was shortened. Apparently, he is the one who wears the Australian Bush hat. Perhaps he received it from the British forces when he was ordered to the desert. Sergeant Troy is from…Voming?" he said struggling to pronounce the name. He looked at me with a puzzled expression, aware I had visited the United States several times before the war.

"Wyoming," I gently corrected him. "It is a state located in the western part of the country."

"Ah! A cowboy," he responded brightly.

"I believe all Americans have a bit of cowboy in them, but it certainly would provide a partial explanation regarding his personality. Do you have any additional information regarding him or any of the others?"

"There is no other information concerning him. The Americans have been in the war for such a short time Intelligence has been unable to gather much information about him."

"Troy, Sergeant Sam Troy," I said out loud. Such a simple name for such a complex man. The name easily rolled off my tongue as if had known him for years. In a way, I had. I didn't believe this cowboy would be running away anytime soon. "So, the Americans have finally made their presence known in this remote outpost of the war. Please continue," I prompted.

"The other sergeant is Jack Moffitt. Apparently, he replaced the other American sergeant we hit during your first encounter with the Rat Patrol. He was assigned from the British 8th Army to the American commando group. He is a Cambridge professor, with an extensive knowledge of the desert. He has been to the Middle East several times before the war for archaeological expeditions and to complete his doctoral thesis."

"So the one sergeant has the boldness of the Americans while the other has the patience of the English. A formidable combination, I hate to admit." I found it interesting that the American is the lead sergeant when he possesses less experience and knowledge of the desert. There must be a leadership ability that they recognized in him. "Any details on the other two soldiers?"

"There is no information regarding the two other men although I'm assuming that they are privates."

I nodded, agreeing with the assumption.

"On the two occasions you encountered them one was wearing an American issued Army helmet while the other was wearing a French Foreign Legion kepi. I think it would be very unusual for the French to be active here in this type of warfare. I would think that he is an American, though. They seem very loose regarding their headgear, especially given the American sergeant's choice of cover. Except for the regulation helmet worn by the other, none of the other headgear would provide much protection given their demolition work."

I allowed my thoughts to gather around his words for a few minutes before replying.

"Very good, Leutnant. This will be the beginning for my dossier regarding the Rat Patrol. I'm very positive over time we will obtain more information regarding Sergeant Troy and the three other commandos. I would place even odds our paths will cross with theirs again, probably sooner rather than later." Hoffman continued to stand before me and I could tell there was something else weighing on his mind.

"Leutnant, you have a question?" I gently prompted him.

"Herr Hauptmann, why didn't he shoot you, this Sergeant Sam Troy? When he had the opportunity to do so? You were within point-blank range," Hoffman blurted.

"Are you sorry about that, Leutnant? Looking to obtain a new commanding officer so soon after my arrival?" I teased.

"Oh, no, Herr Hauptmann!" Hoffman protested, stammering and quickly flushing.

I had to laugh out loud at the young man's dilemma and at myself for placing him in such an uncomfortable situation.

"You will also learn that I have a sense a humor, believe it or not," I smiled, hoping to put him at ease. "Please feel free to continue your thoughts regarding my near demise."

"The Rat Patrol had already killed many other men and they have caused so much destruction, both before and after your arrival. We're obviously operating in the same area as their orders."

"Go on, Hoffman." I knew where his line of thought was going. It was something that had more than crossed my mind, as well.

"He must realize we will engage them in combat again sometime in the near future. To eliminate the commanding officer of the enemy would have been the logical step for him to make." Hoffman took a breath and looked at me expectantly, hoping for some answer that made sense.

I wasn't sure that I had one to give him. "Excellent analysis, Leutnant, even though it would have been at my expense," I laughed lightly, but agreed with him internally. "I wish I had an answer for you, Leutnant. I asked myself the same question from the moment he spared me. He must have had a reason for not acting when he was presented with such an opportunity. Perhaps, when we capture the good Sergeant Sam Troy it will be an excellent question to ask him." It was one of many I would like to pose to the Sergeant when in the near future we ended his career.

Hoffman agreed.

"Until then, it seems that our mutual question will remain unanswered." I looked down at my drawing and I noticed the Leutnant's eyes following mine.

"May I, Herr Hauptmann?" He indicated the drawing.

I handed the drawing pad to him.

He intently studied it before commenting on it.

"You are very talented, Herr Hauptmann. Were you an artist before the war?"

I gave him a small smile and shook my head slightly.

He returned my smile before he continued speaking. "It is an excellent likeness of Sergeant Sam Troy. But why did you draw his portrait? He _is_ the enemy who has caused considerable destruction against us."

"Why not?" I countered with a grin. I couldn't exactly answer why I had chosen him myself. Perhaps it was due to him sparing my life and I felt I owed him for his compassion. Hoffman pondered my reply a few minutes before responding.

"Well, at least now you have a name to place with his face."

"Yes, I do," I said agreeing with him. Suddenly, in a fluid motion I elegantly wrote his name in script beneath his likeness. Now my portrait was finally complete.

I looked at it for another moment before I commented again. "Yes," I repeated, to myself and not to Hoffman. "I have been waiting quite some time to put the two together. Now I finally know the man that I've been seeking for so many years."


	15. Epilogue

"Were you able to find out anything?" Troy asked.

Moffitt slipped onto the bar stool beside Troy. "Some. Actually, quite a bit more than I thought I would."

"What makes you say that?"

"Wouldn't have expected Intelligence to have quite so much information on a captain." Moffitt shrugged and ordered a beer.

"Okay, spill it. What do you got?" Troy asked impatiently. It had been a long two days since he had asked the other sergeant to dig up any information available regarding the German captain. The captain had been foremost on Troy's mind since he had first encountered him a little over a week ago. Thinking back, Troy could have sworn it was over an eternity.

"He is Hauptmann Hans Erich Dietrich of the 21st Panzer Corps. Academy graduate in 1934. Highly educated, he speaks several languages including English and Arabic."

"Just in from the Eastern front?"

"No, he's been in North Africa for a few years. It appears he was one of the originals to arrive with Rommel's staff. New to this area of operation, though."

"Anything else?"

"Your captain comes from a family of substantial financial means. They have an extensive estate and land holdings outside of Coburg. His mother, Alexandra, is from a prominent Prussian aristocratic family. She is well known in German social circles."

"So, he really is a Prussian," laughed Troy, "or at least half-Prussian."

"So it would seem."

Troy lit a cigarette and thought about what Moffitt had said. "What is he, a spoiled rich boy who had his academy appointment bought for him because he was bored playing polo and wanted to play soldier instead?"

"Not quite."

"Then what?" asked Troy, deadly serious again.

"His paternal side has a distinguished military background, stretching back several generations. His father, Erich Georg Dietrich, is a well-known German soldier. He was highly decorated in the Great War and made extensive contacts in England, not to mention in the United States. I have heard of him. Although I didn't originally make the connection between the captain and him."

"Still, what's our pampered Prussian prince doing here, getting his hands dirty in the desert? Riding on his pop's coattails? From what you've said, sounds like he belongs in Paris with an easy duty station."

"Apparently, he has a record for achieving his success with little, if any, assistance from his family. He did serve in France at the beginning of the war. He was assigned to Paris briefly after it fell, but not long after that, he was reassigned to North Africa. He definitely has Rommel's eye, he's considered a rising star, someone to be watched."

"Real golden boy, huh?"

Moffitt took a drink. "The Captain has tallied up a full set of medals. The most recent addition to his collection being the Knight's Cross with Oak Leaves."

"What'd he do to get that?"

"He executed a suicide maneuver at Jufra which saved the German's left flank. Caught the British forces there completely off guard with it, and, he was able to push them back past their original lines."

"Brassy," Troy said with more than just a little admiration.

"Hardly surprising that you'd appreciate that tactic, Troy." Moffitt quirked an eyebrow at him. "Dietrich's action saved his unit and another."

Troy gave a low whistle. "Not bad for a rich Prussian. If he has Rommel's eye, then there must be something to him. The General wouldn't choose a second stringer." Troy contemplated this information for a few minutes, turning it over in his mind before turning back to Moffitt.

"Weren't you at Jufra?"

"No, missed that one, I'm sorry to say. Had a good friend from Cambridge, James Lyon, who was there. Unlike Dietrich, he didn't make it."

"Sorry to hear that." Troy pondered Moffitt's information for a moment before asking his next question.

"A Nazi?"

"Don't know." Moffitt looked thoughtful. "However, if I had to choose, I would say he really wasn't."

"What makes you say that?" Troy felt that it was suddenly important for him to know.

"Highly honorable family, old school military, well educated…Being a Nazi doesn't seem to fit what little I found out about him. That's not to say he isn't one, at least on paper," said Moffitt thoughtfully.

"Any information as to why Dietrich was pulled away to focus on this area, to focus on us?"

"Your guess would be good as mine, Troy. Maybe the Germans have finally grown weary of losing the war to you?" Moffitt grinned. "Perhaps the German command thought Dietrich would have greater success than his predecessor?"

"Yeah well, I don't think Meyer could have hit his ass with both hands tied behind his back." Troy laughed. "It's not much of a stretch to assume that the Germans thought that anyone would be better than him."

Moffitt let his comment sit for several minutes before he finally felt compelled to respond.

"Troy, why do you have such an interest in Dietrich? Knowing about him doesn't change the situation, does it?"

"Oh, I wouldn't say that." Troy casually swirled his beer in its glass. "I like to know who I'm going up against. Besides, the enemy I know is better than the enemy I don't."

Moffitt narrowed his eyes. "And did you have the same interest in Meyer?"

"I didn't need to, I didn't need to care. I never considered him a serious threat to my operations. Besides, I knew the situation with Meyer would take care of itself, and it did."

"Not certain that this is the ideal resolution. The replacement appears to be worse than the original. Keep in mind that it was because of Dietrich that you lost a man."

Troy gave Moffitt a warning look. "That's a fact I will never forget. It's not necessary for you to remind me of it, Moffitt."

"Understood. My apologies, Troy. That was thoughtless of me."

Troy waved Moffitt's lack of tact aside. "What happened was nothing against Cotter. It was strictly war. It could have been me, you, Hitch, Tully, or even Dietrich lying dead back there." Troy's eyes were direct and unflinching.

"To that point, Troy, and forgive me for asking, but why didn't you kill Dietrich when you had the opportunity? It would have solved a problem that's not going to dissipate. In fact, he's a problem which could become much worse very quickly. He's an excellent soldier and if he truly has Rommel's eye, he might be able to bring additional resources to use against us."

"I wasn't going to shoot an unarmed man, Moffitt, even if he is a half-Prussian Kraut," Troy looked Moffitt directly in the eye, waiting for him to challenge him.

"Troy, you do realize that there's a strong probability you will have to kill him in the future? Dietrich won't always be unarmed and killing him won't always be avoidable."

"You're preaching to the choir, Moffitt. If and when that moment arrives, you can bet I won't hesitate to do what I need to do."

Moffitt downed his beer and wiped his mouth. "Good to hear."

"And I'm sure the Captain wouldn't hesitate to call me on that bet."

**ACKNOWLEDGEMENT**

Many thanks to Susan, my beta reader, for her great assistance in helping me bring to life my story of Hauptmann Dietrich and the Rat Patrol.


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